


Risen From the Requiem

by The_Asset6



Series: The Light in the Shadows [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Animal as Main Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Harry Potter AU, Hogwarts AU, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Animals References, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 121,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes thinks he’s seen and done it all, having lived through things that most people could hardly imagine. Rock bottom is a long distance to fall, but he’s clawed his way up from the ashes of his former life to take his place in the Wizarding world now that his time at Hogwarts has come to an end. </p>
<p>The problem? He’s not the only one who has had time to progress.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sequel to “World So Cold” and “Reclamation,” and the final installment in “The Light in the Shadows” main story trilogy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Living Legend (2016)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! The story formatting will be the same here as it was for "World So Cold" and "Reclamation." For those of you who are just joining us, please be advised: **this is not a standalone story!** It is necessary to read the first two stories in this series, otherwise you will not understand what is happening. If you decide to read this anyway, it goes without saying that there will be spoilers for past plots and events ahead!
> 
> As usual, you can expect this story to update daily. There are only two and a half chapters left to be written before it's completed, but where would be the suspense if I just put it all up at once? 
> 
> For those of you who have already read the last two stories, please heed the time jump! Almost two years have passed since Bucky and his friends graduated from Hogwarts, and quite a bit has happened in that time. Thank you for returning for the conclusion, and I hope it delivers!

If there was one thing Bucky had learned in the time he’d been the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., it was how to take a punch.

Natasha’s fist connected with his solar plexus, driving the air out of his lungs. He folded forward and allowed her to think she had the opening before catching the kick she aimed at his face, swinging her around by the leg, and throwing her towards the opposite side of the self-defense gym. True to her typical badassery, she ducked one shoulder and rolled to her feet gracefully as if she’d anticipated that very move.

Actually, knowing Nat, she probably _had_.

“Come on, Yasha,” she taunted with a smirk. “I’ve taught you better than that.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky straightened and raised his fists while struggling to make his wheezes less noticeable. She’d taught him all right, but he sincerely doubted that any amount of practice would ever get him anywhere near the level she was currently on. So, resolving to swallow the humiliation of defeat like a man, Bucky flipped her off and waited for the inevitable reprisal.

Nat lunged for his middle, dropped to her knees at the last moment as Bucky reached up to grab her around the neck, and slid between his _far_ too spread legs. When her fist made contact with his nether regions, he knew it was all over.

It wasn’t the first time he’d ended up curled in the fetal position on the floor with Nat towering over him in amusement, and he very much doubted it would be the last. At least this time Steve, Sam, and Clint weren’t here to laugh at his plight like the assholes they were.

Tutting, Nat knelt down beside him and pulled his head into her lap to run her fingers through his hair. In the six years since they’d met, she’d grown more comfortable showing outward affection that way; it was a far cry from when they’d gone to Hogwarts, where a quick squeeze of his hand and the occasional hug were all he could expect from her. It didn’t happen very frequently, so Bucky played it up and whimpered, pouting up at her.

“You didn’t have to aim for the junk, Nat,” he choked out once every muscle in his body was no longer on fire. “That’s fighting dirty.”

“I never promised to fight clean,” she reminded him with the slightest hint of a rebuke in her tone. When he closed his eyes, she continued, “Besides, like I’ve told the kids a _thousand_ times, it’s not like an opponent is going to fight fair either.”

“An opponent probably won’t be as good as you, though.”

“Touché,” she admitted smugly, flicking his ear.

“Bitch,” murmured Bucky as he rubbed the spot that now stung on _top_ of everything else.

“And proud of it.” Nat nodded once before dropping his head roughly to the floor, apparently having reached her quota of tender affection for the day as she pushed herself to her feet. “You should probably go home and get a shower.”

Bucky staggered upright and mock glared at her. “You saying I stink, Romanoff?”

“I’m saying you’ve smelled better,” she demurred, patting him on the shoulder and moving to grab her duffel bag from the corner of the room. “You’ve got dinner plans for tonight anyway, right?”

“Yeah, after Steve gets off work, we’re going to visit Sarah in Brooklyn,” he confirmed past a yawn. They’d put in a full day of work _and_ practiced afterward (which he adamantly insisted he was bullied into since he tended to avoid these workout sessions like the plague when Nat would let him get away with it), so he was ready to just call it quits for the evening. What he wouldn’t give to just go home, feed Winter, and go to bed early to avoid spending longer in _today_ than absolutely necessary.

No matter how many years passed, his birthday never got any easier to celebrate without his family.

Nat hummed in acknowledgement. There was no fooling her—never had been—and he felt her eyes following him as he limped over to where Dum-E was holding out his coat for him to step into. Tony had outfitted the entire S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters with so much tech that it was a wonder anyone had to do anything around here; his Dum-E robots were just another addition to the family. The kids loved them—little ones would go running up to hand them things just for the fun of watching the robotic claw grab on tight while the older ones tried to discover just how much weight they could hold before buckling. (Heretofore, they’d never found out. Since Tony’s maturity level was about on par with your average twelve-year-old on a good day, he came in to make adjustments anytime one of the machines approached its threshold.) This model was special, however. It was Tony’s gift to Bucky when he graduated and came to work at S.H.I.E.L.D. full time: the original Dum-E he’d modeled on the train in Bucky’s first year, revamped and resized with a Growth Charm to be just as technologically capable as the newer models. It now stood up to Bucky’s shoulders, and it tended to follow him around like a puppy unless he specifically ordered it to remain in his office.

“Thanks, buddy,” he murmured, stepping into his jacket and leaning down to pick up his messenger bag.

He’d only just gotten a hand on the strap when Nat called, “Heads up.”

Bucky glanced up in time to catch a small, lightweight package that came sailing through the air towards him with a small smile. “You didn’t ha—“

“Of course I did, shut up,” scoffed Nat. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall beside him, nodding at the brightly wrapped gift. “Go on.”

Sighing, Bucky shook his head and tore open the paper. Admittedly, what was inside really wasn’t something he would ever have expected to get, either from someone or for himself. He said as much, holding up the front-facing baby carrier with a befuddled frown.

“Is…there something you’re trying to tell me here?” he joked. The slap to the arm he got in retaliation was honestly deserved.

Nat snorted, “Asshole. It’s for _Winter_.”

“Okaaaaay…?”

She got that _I Can’t Believe I Have To Hold Your Hand Through This_ look on her face and explained, “It’s got an anti-Splinching spell. I know you still won’t Apparate with her.”

That was true enough. After the incident in his sixth year where he’d Splinched his left arm badly enough that it had nearly fallen off, Bucky absolutely refused to Apparate with Winter. It didn’t matter how many times Steve and their other friends impressed upon him that it wasn’t _his_ fault that had happened, that it was entirely because of whoever it was that had been trying to kill him at the time, but their rationalizing fell on deaf ears. He was well aware of that; it didn’t convince him to put Winter in danger. If he had to take Portkeys for the rest of his life, that was fine by him, as long as he never ran the risk of Splinching Win. It was a hassle, but he gladly made the sacrifice every time.

So the carrier would be a big help and save him a lot of time contacting the Ministry for approval to make a Portkey whenever they went to Brooklyn or he visited the Petrovs in Moscow.

Smiling back up at Nat, Bucky couldn’t help chuckling, “So I get to be a forty-year-old soccer mom, awesome.”

That made Nat laugh, and she shook her head as she leaned forward to peck a kiss to his cheek without answering.

“Happy birthday, Yasha,” she murmured, her smile turning more somber. Bucky nodded once, feeling the strain at the corners of his mouth as he thanked her.

Just about everyone had left for the evening by the time they parted ways except the staff that monitored the building overnight. In the last two years, they’d had over sixty kids stay for varying lengths of time and had a residential area for them on the third floor of the building. Group activities were on the first floor and student services were on the second, so everything they needed during the day was readily available. That went for the innumerable kids who had come to just take advantage of their summer camp offers as well. (Skye had made an amazing website for the Muggle crowd while other advertisements had gone up in the _Prophet_ for magical kids.)

In spite of everything the Ministry liked to say about Muggles and their lack of tolerance for the Wizarding world when they _did_ know about it, all the kids got on swimmingly. Sure, there were the occasional Purebloods who came to see what the hubbub was about only to find that they had to mingle with a few Muggles, but that’s what the counselors were for. Sam in particular had done a great job helping them cope with the transition from _my parents said no magic means no brains_ to _huh they aren’t so bad_.

He hadn’t been quite sure at first how they were going to convince Muggles to leave their children in a place that sounded like an asylum for people who thought magic was real, but the problem had been easily solved. The Muggle parent of a half-blood child suggested during the first year they were open that Bucky try using people like him and Muggle-borns to spread the word. The population of Muggles served at S.H.I.E.L.D. was therefore a bit small and limited to only those who sort of knew all this had existed to begin with, but it was still a step in the right direction. Unlike his mom’s ideals, Bucky knew that there was no way to just openly announce that there was a Wizarding world and expect things to end up all fine and dandy. It was a delicate subject and, as such, was better handled on a one-to-one level. If changing the world meant doing it one Muggle and one witch or wizard at a time, well, they had plenty to spare.

Bucky and Nat didn’t quite make it out as quickly as they’d hoped, stopping momentarily to prod a couple of their recent arrivals, Johnny and Susan, to head back up to their dormitory. Both had been tight-lipped about what had happened to them, but the Muggle social worker who dropped them off said they were half-bloods living with their Muggle father until he’d died in a work-related accident. Since their mother was nowhere to be found, the kids were staying until the Ministry could either locate her or find potential couples for Bucky to vet for adoption. (He relied heavily on Nat for that part as, given her own history with the system, she’d know the warning signs.)

Finally, once they were sure the building was locked and all the residents were where they were _supposed_ to be, Bucky waved to Nat and Apparated back to the apartment he and Steve shared. Crawley wasn’t really that far from their flat in the middle of London proper, but he was already running late and still had to shower before he was presentable enough to head to Brooklyn.

The apartment had originally been his, a two-bedroom walk-up with a small living room, kitchen, and one bathroom. It was more than what he and Winter needed, but that was fortunate when Steve had arrived at the door with a duffel bag in hand one week after moving in with Peggy.

Apparently when both you _and_ your girlfriend were Aurors and _one_ of you threw themselves into stupid situations with particularly unnerving amounts of fervor, living arrangements needed to include plenty of space for the _other_ to cool their jets.

Which meant that, although the two were still dating, Steve was living with Bucky for the foreseeable future in an attempt to maintain the health of their relationship. He’d promised that it wouldn’t be long-term, that he’d find a place of his own, but it just sort of stayed like that and, almost two years later, Bucky wasn’t fussed about it. He had no issues rooming with Steve (it wasn’t like they’d gotten to at Hogwarts, after all), and despite how much he hated to admit it, it made him feel better to have someone else in the flat. There were times that Steve worked long hours when he was in the middle of a case, of course, yet he was still present enough to make the place feel more secure.

For Winter’s sake, obviously.

Sighing, Bucky wished for the millionth time that it wasn’t so _prudent_ to have an anti-Apparition ward on the apartment and pulled his keys out of his bag to unlock the door, almost stepping right on the aforementioned fur ball the second he walked inside.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his skin as he gaped down at his cat in surprise.

Winter just raised her head from the floor with a flat expression that would have said, _“Where the fuck have you been?”_ if she was capable of speech.

Bucky laughed breathlessly before hitching his bag up higher on his shoulder and leaning down to pull her into his arms. “Sorry, I know I’m late. You can blame Nat for it.”

Mewing, Winter huffed and shoved her face under his jaw in what he took as a sign of forgiveness. He’d wait a few minutes for that to solidify before he broke the news that he _really_ needed a shower to her.

As soon as the door was kicked shut and his bag was dropped in his room, Bucky collapsed on his bed and stared up at the ceiling while Winter curled up in a ball on his chest. Ordinarily Winter just waited for him to get home in here, never quite sure if it would be her human or Steve who came through the door, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised she’d come to greet him today. After all, he’d been clingy the last couple of days leading up to his birthday and so had she as a result. This morning had been particularly difficult when she refused to let him out the door without extra cuddles as his birthday present.

“Sorry for being a pain, Win,” he murmured, stroking her head as she purred contentedly. “Guess I just kind of wanted to skip today, y’know? It’s easier than acting happy.”

A rough little tongue scraped against his neck, and Bucky couldn’t help smiling a little. It was bolstering in a sense: if he was twenty years old today, he probably should start acting like it, and that began with getting whatever support he could. Even if it was from his cat.

He allowed himself to zone out for ten minutes before sitting up, disentangling himself from Winter’s claws when she didn’t want to let him go, and heading for the bathroom to run through the shower. He still had about half an hour before Steve got home, so he figured he should try to look like a human being before then.

It was a tossup as to whether he actually succeeded in that venture or not, but Bucky at least _felt_ a little better after he’d cleaned up and slipped into an old pair of jeans. The beautiful part of his job was that he could wear whatever the fuck he wanted, though he still had to make sure it _looked_ like something a person running a company would be seen in public wearing, so it kind of defeated the purpose some days. Bucky was positive it wouldn’t matter if he was twenty or seventy—he’d always be happiest in a shitty pair of jeans and a comfortable T-Shirt.

And, of course, the necklace he’d worn every day since he found it at Gringotts. Except when he took a shower or went to bed, since he didn’t want to get it wet or risk strangling himself by accident while he slept, Bucky wore his dad’s dog tags and his mom and Becca’s rings on his chain every single day without fail. Some days he just needed the comfort of knowing that the last things his dad had thought to leave for him were swinging barely an inch away from his heart; others, he had to clench the trinkets in his fist like a talisman to ward off the overwhelming sense of guilt that would occasionally creep up on him when he least expected it. Those days were far fewer now than ever before, but they did happen from time to time. Bucky had a feeling they always would.

As terrible as he was feeling today, however, it wasn’t one of _those_ days. He was able to pick up the chain, loop it around his neck, and gently tuck it beneath his T-shirt without feeling a lump in his throat. He counted that as a win.

When Bucky emerged from the bathroom, dropping by his room to grab his unfortunate Apparition tool, Steve was already home and playing with Winter on the floor of the living room. He’d already changed out of his black Auror robes into something similar to what Bucky was wearing and grinned up at him as he let Winter win their game of tug-of-war. (He knew better than to try it with Winter’s monkey and had resorted to using the toy elephant Tatiana and Mikhail had gotten her last time they visited, thank God.)

“You ready to go?” Steve inquired, grunting as his joints cracked when he stood.

Bucky plucked Winter and her toy up with a nod. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Steve was one of the few people Bucky felt comfortable enough to tell when he wasn’t feeling great, not that he ever really needed to half the time. They’d known each other so long that Steve could sense when he was feeling low. Today had been no exception.

“Mom said she’s making baked mac and cheese,” was his attempt to cheer Bucky up, and he managed a little smirk in return.

“She’s probably made enough for us to freeze for the next two months,” he joked, secretly hoping that was the case. When they’d gone to Brooklyn for Thanksgiving, they’d literally needed three large bags just to carry all the leftovers she made them take home and were still eating them a week before Christmas. Not that he was complaining—neither he nor Steve were the best chefs in the world, so anything she was willing to make for them was just fine by him.

Snorting, Steve shrugged. “Probabl— _oh, my God, Bucky. Where the hell did you get that?!_ ”

Bucky narrowed his eyes into as menacing a glare as he could, strapping Nat’s _gift_ to his front and depositing Winter inside while Steve practically rolled on the floor laughing at him. _Yup, forty-year-old soccer mom. Nailed it._

“This, I’ll have you know, is a top-of-the-line carrier,” he explained with his nose as far in the air as it could possibly go, “that is equipped with an anti-Splinching spell to make sure my baby is safe.”

“Your _baby_ has fur,” chuckled Steve. He was shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of Bucky’s mouth—in a good way, which meant in a humiliating way for Bucky.

“Family is more than blood, Steven,” quipped Bucky, patting Winter’s head.

For her part, his cat appeared to be quite pleased with their situation. The carrier was fitted just perfectly for her to press her furry head up under his jaw where she loved to spend most of her time anyway; it probably felt like he was hugging her from where she was cradled inside, which made it a double hug when he folded his arms across his chest and huffed at Steve’s complete lack of understanding for proper pet protection.

“Well,” Steve sighed, clearing his throat and utterly failing to keep the grin off his face, “at least she has your eyes.”

“Fuck you,” grumbled Bucky. He stepped around the coffee table into the open space of their living room. “Are you coming, or should I tell Sarah that it’s _your_ fault we’re late?”

_That_ effectively lit a fire under Steve’s ass. He checked the clock, swore under his breath, and nearly tripped over the coffee table getting into a spot where he could turn without doing himself or the furniture serious injury. Snickering, Bucky took a deep breath, wrapped his arms around Winter tightly, _turned_ —

And then he was staring up at the familiar brownstone, his smile turning entirely genuine for the first time today. Steve appeared with a _pop_ a moment later, and if his sigh was any indication, he was equally pleased to be home. Bucky let him lead the way up the steps as he resolutely kept his gaze away from the house he’d grown up in. It had become a habit with all the times they’d come here after graduating; looking just made him remember, and usually that didn’t bode well for his attitude throughout their visit afterward. It was better for everyone, not least of which being his psyche, for him to just go about his business and think fondly of his home in his memories instead.

As Steve unlocked the door and they entered the foyer, Bucky was expecting the nostalgia that swept over him the way it always did as he took in the familiar setting.

What he _wasn’t_ anticipating, however, was for Sarah to be accompanied by Tatiana and Mikhail when she came running into the room to smother them in hugs.

“What are you guys doing here?” he inquired blankly, not meaning to sound as unwelcoming as he did. It was their fault, though—he wasn’t so good with surprises anymore. It had been all he could do to spend the last month begging Nat not to make good on her threats to throw him a surprise birthday party when he was least expecting it.

Tatiana, who was very well aware of his reservations towards the unknown, chortled under her breath as she pecked a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but we thought it would be nice to come for your birthday. If that’s all right with you.”

They knew each other well enough by now that Bucky was aware she didn’t _really_ think he wouldn’t want them there, but he shrugged sarcastically nonetheless.

“I mean, if you _have_ to.”

That got him a swat to the side of the head from Sarah before she leaned into strangle him once again. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. And, uh… Is this a new sweater, or…?” She pinched the edges of Winter’s carrier with an expression that did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that if she wasn’t a _mature adult_ —unlike her _son_ —she’d be in stitches.

Steve stepped in to take this one, though, grinning. “I forgot to tell you Bucky was pregnant. This is his baby.”

“Yes, Steve and I are very happy together,” deadpanned Bucky with a very fake lovesick grin in Steve’s direction. “We thought it was the only logical step forward.”

This time, the smack was _definitely_ harder than he deserved, _what the fuck._

 

***

 

Just as they’d thought, they had enough leftovers to feed an army and still have _more_ leftovers…well, left over. Bucky was glad baked macaroni and cheese was his favorite dish ever (and the best comfort food anyone ever thought up), because it looked like it was going to be dinner until summer.

After dinner and presents and talking and watching movies, however, Bucky just needed a _break_. He loved Steve, Sarah, and the Petrovs, but… Well, he still wasn’t okay, and sometimes he needed to accept that fact and take a step back. (That was what Sam said, anyway, and he was the licensed counselor so he probably knew what he was talking about. Maybe.) So he retreated to the kitchen for a few minutes, muttering some nonsense about getting Winter water, and took some time to just lean against the counter and breathe. Winter held his finger in her mouth the way a human would hold his hand, comforting him the only way she knew how while his free hand toyed with the chain around his neck.

He hated feeling like this. There were so many other things to think about: the kids at S.H.I.E.L.D. that needed new homes, the new campaign to partner with Hogwarts to provide tutoring in cases where students were still struggling and needed the chance to catch up, the fact that the Ministry still periodically tried to give them money for whatever reason when they continuously spewed more bullshit about needing to divide the magical community from the Muggles. There were days when he wasn’t sure they really _knew_ what S.H.I.E.L.D. was for and just wanted to throw money at him in an attempt to gain whatever support they could despite Bucky knowing it was all ridiculous. S.H.I.E.L.D. had no choice but to involve the Ministry, and Muggle authorities on more rare occasions, because it was on them to fully, legally place kids with new families. Aside from that, however, Bucky kept the two entities as separate as possible to avoid the appearance of supporting Pierce.

They were doing _good_ , and very little _good_ had ever come from politics.

Which led him right back where he didn’t want his mind to be.

“That cat gets a little more human every day,” chuckled Sarah softly as she entered the room.

Bucky surfaced from where he’d been lost in his own head to check the clock over the stove and nearly swore when he realized he’d been gone almost half an hour. Smiling sheepishly at her, he could only shrug. “She tries, anyway.”

Sarah hummed and stepped closer to rub circles on his back. “How are you?”

“’M fine.”

“Okay. Now the _real_ answer.”

Snorting quietly, Bucky hung his head. There was no getting anything past Sarah; he wasn’t sure why he still bothered to try. “It’s just hard,” he whispered after a pause. He still had trouble discussing these things without sounding like a kid.

Sarah seemed to understand immediately, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him into her side. “I know it is.”

“It’s… _easier_ now than before, but it still sucks,” he confided quietly. A glance over his shoulder told him no one else was going to come investigate their absence. He heard Steve and Tatiana laugh from the other room and figured they were safe.

“It always will,” sighed Sarah. “You’ve got to take the good with the bad, though.”

Frowning, Bucky inquired, “What does that mean?”

“Well, the bad is obviously that they aren’t here,” she explained needlessly, waving a hand in a manner that would have looked flippant if not for the heavy quality of her tone. “The good is that _you_ still _are_ , and that would make them happier than anything. Every birthday you’re here to celebrate? That’s a small victory for your mom and dad.”

_That…sort of makes sense._

Bucky huffed something that would have been a laugh any other time and admitted, “I never thought of it that way.”

“You get to be an expert at it once you deal with this long enough,” whispered Sarah as if she were telling him some huge secret. When he grinned, she laughed, “There’s that smile!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled in spite of himself. Leave it to Sarah to know just what to say to help.

“Oh, speaking of smiling, did you see the _Daily Prophet_ this morning?”

“Uh…” Bucky glanced at her like she might be going out of her mind. “I usually don’t associate the _Daily Prophet_ with the word _smiling_ or _happy_ or…really anything else like that, so…no?”

Sarah grinned, stepping away from him to grab the rolled up paper off the opposite counter. He _almost_ told her he didn’t want to see it, that there was no way whatever it was could _possibly_ be worth any of the turmoil it would cause him, but he bit his tongue and let her lay the newspaper out flat before him. If Sarah was the one urging him to read it, he supposed he would have to trust her judgment.

“What am I looking at?” he capitulated, but it became obvious the moment he saw himself staring up at him from the front page.

It wasn’t a recent photograph—he hadn’t allowed himself to be in a position to get his picture taken by the press in years. Any functions they did at S.H.I.E.L.D. were either closed to the press (there were ulterior benefits to protecting the identities of children from the ravenous teeth of journalists) or occurred when he was otherwise occupied, so they’d had to use the picture from the speech he’d given at his graduation instead.

At the very least, the picture reminded him that there was a time when he was lower than he felt today, and that he’d made a lot of progress since then. It was hard to keep telling himself that in a way that he could believe on the bad days despite being well aware of it every other time.

Just as Sarah said, he couldn’t help smiling, albeit in disbelief, when he read the headline.

> LIVING LEGEND – THE _PROPHET_ WISHES A HAPPY TWENTIETH TO JAMES BARNES
> 
> _The story of the Barnes family is one for the history books. From the rise of Winifred Barnes, former Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and possibly one of the most influential witches of our time, to the success of S.H.I.E.L.D. in recent years, the Barnes family has filled people with hope in a world where fear overwhelmingly stalks our steps._
> 
> _It has been almost four years since the untimely, tragic death of former Undersecretary Barnes, her husband George, and their daughter Rebecca. James, the last man standing of the Barnes clan, was originally thought to have perished with his family only to defy all odds and come back with a vengeance._
> 
> _A bright, talented student at Hogwarts, James graduated among those at the top of his class. He was loved by the faculty, admired by his fellow students, achieved excellent grades, and was a formidable opponent on the Quidditch pitch. With such achievements behind him, however, no one could have guessed that he would exceed everyone’s expectations and go on to be a force for good not only in the Wizarding community, but for every living creature._
> 
> _James founded S.H.I.E.L.D. in the summer of 2013 and, following his graduation, took over the organization’s headquarters in Crawley, West Sussex. At first glance, it is difficult to tell what exactly S.H.I.E.L.D. is designed to do, which is exactly how it’s meant to be: without straightforward boundaries, the nonprofit can be anything necessary to help those who arrive at its doors in need. In the last three years, S.H.I.E.L.D. has taken in orphans and abandoned/abused children until such time as the Ministry can find suitable homes for them, saving them from the dangers of being lost in a potentially harmful or unhygienic system. It has structured programs of education for both Muggle students familiar with the existence of the Wizarding world and those in the magical community, fostering cooperation between the two groups. It has provided basic, free emergency healthcare in their state of the art health clinic (care of Stark Industries founder, Tony Stark). It has donated to organizations aimed at caring for and avoiding the exploitation of all creatures, both magical and otherwise._
> 
> _Natasha Romanoff, the Assistant Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and self-defense instructor, had this to say with regards to how thin it would seem the charity is stretched: “There’s a difference between doing anything we can to help people and trying to do too much. When the person in charge cares so much and happens to have the means to make things happen, can you blame him for doing it this way?”_
> 
> _We at the_ Prophet _certainly can’t. The number of children remanded to both the Muggle- and Ministry-operated systems for children without safe home environments have seen a decided decrease in population since the opening of S.H.I.E.L.D., while the number who have found and been_ kept _in caring homes has skyrocketed. In recent polls, pro-Muggle sentiment has gone up 10% since before the charity was opened, and crimes for poaching of magical creatures are at their lowest rate in twenty years._
> 
> _It just goes to show that the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree, and James has stepped in to take up his mother’s mantle as the protector of the Wizarding world, one child at a time._
> 
> _So, from all of us here at the_ Daily Prophet _and on behalf of the Wizarding community worldwide, we’d like to wish a very happy birthday to James Barnes. Here’s to many more._

A drop of moisture dripped onto the paper, seeping out in a darkened circle over top of the text. Sniffling, Bucky peered through the mist in his eyes at Sarah, who was watching with a small smile on her face. Tremulous as it was, Bucky returned her grin.

The _Prophet_ had written something _nice_ about him. And not just because it was popular or they pitied the poor orphan he’d become—the whole article had been about what he’d done to _earn_ the respect of the community aside from bad circumstances.

“I-I… I did good?” he breathed, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep more tears from falling.

“You’ve done _so much_ good, sweetie,” confirmed Sarah. She pulled him into a hug and guided his head down to rest against her shoulder; it was the smallest he’d felt in a long time. The words she whispered in his ear were for the two of them and the ghosts watching from somewhere beyond the veil between here and eternity: “Your mom and dad and Becca, wherever they are, they’re looking down at you and they’re so proud…and they love you so much. Never forget that.”

Nodding shakily, Bucky buried his face in her neck and just breathed.

Maybe today wasn’t such a bad day after all.


	2. Inundated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little later in the day than usual! Be advised: there are mentions of torture and potential human experimentation in this chapter. There are no vivid details.

“Bucky? Do you have a moment?”

Glancing up from the pricing quotes he’d been going over, Bucky grinned with relief to see Thor standing in the doorway. Although he’d always seemed a bit more like _Steve’s_ friend than Bucky’s throughout school—probably because of their house assignments—Thor had been a huge asset at S.H.I.E.L.D. since he spent their first summer after Hogwarts teaching a class on connections between magical and Muggle mythology and never left. Right now, when Bucky was ready to tear his hair out trying to determine which quote would be best for a new lab of Muggle tech to introduce their magical students to, he couldn’t be happier to have a distraction.

“I have a million of them—what’s up?” he inquired, shifting his papers to the side and gesturing for Thor to sit in one of the chairs before his desk. He frequently _hated_ how formal it all felt, but with some of the donors he had to impress in this office, there really was nothing to be done for it. They wanted wood polish and uncomfortable leather seats, not plush couches and armchairs. _Stuffed shirts._

“I was hoping to get your opinion on something I wished to try with the new sections starting next week,” Thor began, heaving a sigh as he reclined as far as the chair would let him and put his feet up on the other. “We’ve been covering a lot of British mythology, but I feel we could do more.”

Nodding, Bucky agreed, “I mean, that would be pretty good. Have different sections at different times of day depending on what kids are interested in? What regions are you thinking?”

“Norse mythology, for one—“

“Is this just a ploy for you to get them to call you a god?” asked Bucky in mock suspicion, narrowing his eyes.

Thor barked a laugh and shook his head. “No, although I’m sure Loki would feel the opposite.”

“That’s for sure,” snorted Bucky. He’d hired Thor’s brother to help with their Squib outreach and job placement program, but also to teach mythology as well; it was such a popular class both among the young witches and wizards _and_ the Muggles who came through that they’d needed two teachers just to keep up. Loki tended to teach more _history_ and added mythology to it, but at least there were two of them. Unlike Thor, however, Loki had a penchant for mischief and generally tended to feed the kids falsehoods so they would be encouraged to check the facts online or in the provided texts. It was pretty hit-or-miss that they actually followed through on that, but no amount of berating had any influence on Loki. If there was anyone more appropriately named, Bucky hadn’t met them.

“Aside from that, though, I feel we need to teach Greek and Roman mythology as well,” added Thor with a more somber expression. “Much of modern culture has been shaped by those societies. It is doing the children a disservice not to at least provide _some_ information.”

“No, totally,” Bucky concurred immediately. “I mean, Greek and Roman stuff is pretty much all the mythology we learned in Muggle school in the U.S., so I get that. What kind of materials do you think you’ll need?”

Thor’s expression immediately brightened when he saw he wasn’t about to get shot down, so whatever he was planning probably wouldn’t take much money to make happen. If it did, Bucky wouldn’t care. He’d started S.H.I.E.L.D. with his own money and, while he was certainly not short of it, they had plenty stashed away for purposes like this that donors had generously provided. It was about time they dipped into it, right?

“Skye has been most helpful!” exclaimed Thor, dropping his feet to the ground to lean forward excitedly. If Bucky didn’t know any better, he’d think Thor was coming off the Quidditch pitch after a particularly spectacular win. “There are websites on the internet that we can purchase subscriptions to! They include lessons and access to encyclopedias—“

“So, pretty much the stuff schools use, then?” clarified Bucky, grimacing when Thor raised a confused eyebrow. What with his enthusiasm for the services they provided at S.H.I.E.L.D. (against his father’s wishes), it was difficult sometimes to remember that Thor was Pureblood and didn’t grow up with this stuff. “Sorry, go on.”

Shrugging, Thor confirmed, “If that is what they use in Muggle schools, then that is what we should get. It would also give them a chance to use the technology you said you were going to buy.”

“ _Yeeeeah_ , about that…” Bucky sighed as he picked the quotes back up and waved them in Thor’s face. “Do you know how _stupid_ it is that companies actually _bid_ on stuff like this? I’ve got one charging me out the ass while another says we can pay less for the _equipment_ but we’ll just make up for it in installation—when, _hello_ , I know how to install a fucking computer. But they say there are _programs_ and _displays_ and all that bullshit so I absolutely _have_ to have one of their technicians—or, even better, a _team_ of them—come out here to put it all together. Which is just gonna go over like a lead balloon when they get a load of what we do here.”

Thor kindly let him vent his frustrations until he talked himself into silence and deflated enough to drop the papers back on the desk. With a slightly hysterical laugh, Bucky bemoaned, “It was so much easier when Tony oversaw all this at the beginning.”

“I’m sorry, did someone mention _moi_?”

_Oh, God, no. This is all I need._

For a second, Bucky prayed it was all a terrible dream and he’d wake up in his bed with Winter pawing at his face to get her breakfast. Instead, he got a front row seat (or, second to front row since Thor got that pleasure) to Tony waltzing into his office like he owned the place. And okay, he _did_ contribute a lot of his company’s money to S.H.I.E.L.D., but that was a _charitable donation_ and did not entitle him to having his name on _this_ building like he did the one in London. However, the twenty thousand times Bucky had insisted upon that had apparently fallen on deaf ears, because here Tony was looking like he should be walking a red carpet.

“Yeah,” deadpanned Bucky, sitting back in his chair and staring flatly at the flamboyant billionaire. “Just wondering how Pepper stands being married to you _and_ running Stark Industries all at the same time.”

“With patience and grace, Barnesy-poo, with patience and grace. And what about the lovely _Jane_?” he inquired in a show of politeness that put Bucky on edge. Thor, apparently just as surprised as he was, glanced up and smiled.

“She’s doing very well,” he responded as he got to his feet. “She’s doing some research in New Mexico, so she’s living there for the time being.”

“Mm, research, sounds boring,” commented Tony flippantly, taking the chair Thor had just vacated.

Sighing, Bucky shot an apologetic look at Thor for Tony’s perpetually idiotic behavior. “I’ll get on ordering the subscriptions, Thor. Just get me a list of which sites you and Skye think you want, all right?”

A grudging smile replaced the annoyed expression that had crossed Thor’s visage at Tony’s insult (the two had been engaged in a heated rivalry over whose girlfriend was more accomplished for _years_ with no end in sight), and he nodded in the affirmative before taking his leave. As soon as he was gone, the tentative smile slid right off Bucky’s face, and he stared at Tony with thinly veiled exasperation.

“What do you want, Tony?”

“See, for a second there, I thought you were happy to see me,” tutted Tony in mock disappointment. “Anyway, we can deal with our clearly failing relationship and the years of therapy we’ll need later—have you _seen_ the news?”

“’Fraid you’re gonna have to narrow that down a bit,” murmured Bucky, _so_ not in the mood for this today. He was ready to just let Tony prattle on while actually getting some work done the way he usually did; it wasn’t as if Tony needed his input anyway, and usually he hardly realized Bucky wasn’t listening in light of his own brilliance. However, the moment he began to peruse his blood-money quotes again, they were plucked out of his hands.

“Tony, for fuck’s sake—“ he began, his jaw dropping when the billionaire _shredded his fucking documents right in front of him_. “Are you out of your damn mind?!”

_I know the Killing Curse is an Unforgivable, but the Ministry can’t_ possibly _say he doesn’t fucking deserve it!_

“Buck-a-boo, why are you even bothering with these peons?” gasped Tony in seeming outrage. He commenced ripping up the pages of Bucky’s quotes into tiny pieces and then sent them flying all over the room like confetti. “I’ll put in whatever you need.”

“Tony, I ca—“

“Sure you can. Consider it Stark Industries’ pleasure.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky inquired, “Don’t you think you _might_ want to check with your CEO before you do that?”

Tony scoffed, waving him off dismissively. “Please, Pepper will be completely on board the second I say _S.H.I.E.L.D._ You know she’s got a soft spot for the small bipedal organisms you guys cater to here.”

“And when are you having some of your own?” taunted Bucky with a grin. If there was one thing in the world that had the power to make Tony Stark, heir to a vast fortune and owner of one of the largest companies in both the Wizarding _and_ Muggle worlds, get intensely uncomfortable, it was children.

True to form, Stark shuddered, only partially exaggerating. “Let us not speak of such things lest the little woman get any ideas in her head, Nine Lives.”

Rolling his eyes at the overused crack (because apparently it was the only appropriate moniker for someone whose second best friend was a cat and seemed to have nine lives himself anytime someone tried to off him), Bucky pointed out, “I’m pretty sure she won’t take kindly to you calling her _the little woman_.”

“Which is exactly why no one is going to be telling her,” observed Tony in the same snarky tone, “or they’ll get to see my new invention close up.”

“Dare I ask?”

Unfortunately, he probably shouldn’t have. Tony adopted his _commercial_ voice and exclaimed, “The Secret Keeper! Better than duct tape, it’ll seal the mouth of your target for up to forty-eight hours guaranteed. No harm, no foul, just two days of uninterrupted quiet. Use it on the kids—use it on the spouse—“

“Bet Pepper uses it on hers every damn day.”

“—use it for the dog, who the fuck cares. It’ll work either way, including on attitudinal whiny nonprofit owners who refuse to just say _thank you, Tony, love of my life and bearer of my metaphorical business child_ when prompted.”

“Thank you, Tony, love of my life, bearer of my metaphorical business child, and absolute asshat.”

Tony paused, his mouth still open mid-pitch, before he shrugged. “Okay, I can take that.”

Bucky covered his face with his hands and groaned. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered just how much work an anti-Stark ward would take to create, and he doubted it would be the last.

“Okay,” he finally sighed, looking out from between his fingers. “As much as I _love_ these little visits and _am_ very grateful for you installing the tech we need, what _exactly_ are you really here for?”

“Merely spreading the good word,” replied Tony sagely before grimacing. “Well, not really the _good_ word—good for business, bad for everyone involved.”

Bucky didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant by that when his cell phone rang beside his elbow to signify that yes, it really was going to be one of _those_ days. Holding up a finger to hit the proverbial (and generally nonexistent) pause button on Tony, Bucky frowned to see Steve’s name pop up on his display. That was odd: Steve never called or texted during the day unless work was slow, and given the fact that he’d been assigned to some missing person’s case that was too hush-hush for him to tell Bucky about for the last six months, he highly doubted that was the case.

“Hang on a sec,” he muttered, swiping his screen to pick up the call. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Been better,” Steve’s voice answered tiredly from the other end of the line. There was a lot of noise in the background, which meant he wasn’t at the Ministry. “Listen, we’ve got a situation and I think it would probably be a good idea if you came down here.”

Frowning, Bucky reminded him, “You realize I didn’t do the whole Auror thing, right?”

There was a brief chuckle. “Yeah, but trust me, this is gonna be right up your alley. Can you bring backup?”

“Uh, yeah. Nat’s next class isn’t for a couple of hours, and Sam doesn’t have any appointments with kids today. Steve, what the hell is going on?”

“Just grab them and meet me at the Cinema-Theatre Varia in Belgium.”

“The _what_? What the fuck are you doing in Belgium?”

“I’ll explain when you get here, okay? Just look the place up and Apparate. I really need you here, Buck. Fast.”

Nodding, Bucky realized a moment too late that Steve wouldn’t be able to see it and muttered, “Okay, give me ten minutes.”

The call was barely disconnected before Tony remarked, “ _Sooooooooo_ , I’m guessing Stevie boy wanted a little booty call out at the Cinema-Theatre Varia, huh?”

Bucky froze in place as he reached out to wake up his computer display and check Google, narrowing his eyes at Tony’s seemingly innocent façade. “How did you know?”

“Well, as I was _trying_ to tell you before you so rudely began speaking of children and the ol’ ba—“

“Stark, you have five seconds.”

“I’m rich. I have connections,” shrugged Tony as if it were the most simple thing in the world. To someone like him, it probably was. “But now I guess I won’t spoil the surprise, so come on, chop chop!”

Before Bucky knew it, he was out of his seat and heading for the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Whirling around, Tony draped himself on the doorframe and put a finger to his chin in a mocking imitation of deep thought. “Well, let’s see. You told Captain Tightass that Romanoff and Wilson were free, so you _obviously_ plan on taking them with you to the land of unity and strength and all that jazz. Now are you coming or what?”

As he vanished down the hall, Bucky took a moment to hang his head. He didn’t sit there long, though. There would be plenty of time to ponder every life decision that got him to this point later.

 

***

 

Standing outside, Bucky couldn’t help wondering if they’d gotten the wrong location. How many places with a name like _Cinema-Theatre Varia_ could there be in Belgium, though? Still, he found it hard to believe that Steve would want them to come _here_ of all places.

The building was abandoned. That much was obvious the moment they Apparated outside where the doors were supposed to be to find them all boarded up, along with the ground floor windows. The concrete forming the outside had all turned grey, darker in places where it was beginning to wear away. It was plain to see that the place had once been quite beautiful, perhaps a hundred years ago. There was a balcony with an intricately-designed iron rail and carvings along the wall under the arched windows. Right smack in the center was confirmation they’d come to the place Steve had told him about: _Theatre Varia Cinema_.

“Okay, just checking,” sighed Nat, folding her arms over her chest with a raised eyebrow. “Steve was serious, right? This isn’t some kind of joke?”

“It sure didn’t sound like one.”

Visibly shuddering, Sam grumbled, “It better not be. Place is spooky as hell. And how are we supposed to get in?”

Bucky shrugged, glancing both ways along the street to ensure that it, too, was abandoned but for the four of them. Then he pulled his wand out of his jacket pocket, whispered, “We’re out front. Where are you?” and sent his Patronus cat into the theatre.

Was it wrong of him to hope that it just dissolved and this was all some intricate—if senseless—prank?

He would apparently never find out, since Steve popped his head _straight through_ the plywood covering the center door a couple minutes after Bucky had sent his message. Steve’s expression was utterly serious, which made Bucky’s stomach drop into the region of his lower intestine. Given the fact that he was such a shitty liar, Steve had never been able to hold out long enough to work any sort of prank for whatever length of time was required. This was no joke.

“What’s going on, Steve?” demanded Bucky, stepping up to the door and staring all around the plywood. It looked very solid, but apparently there was some kind of spell that just made it appear that way to passersby. The same sort of trick was used at one of the entrances to St. Mungo’s, so it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise.

“Come inside and watch your step,” ordered Steve without answering, adopting the _Auror Steve Rogers_ voice Bucky usually made fun of. There would be no laughing today, however; that much was certain.

Glancing back at Nat, Sam, and Tony, Bucky shrugged one shoulder and stepped through the plywood as soon as Steve moved out of the way. If he thought the outside of the place was creepy, it was nothing compared to the inside.

There were times when Bucky was a kid when his family would go on a trip somewhere and, off to the side of the road, there would be abandoned houses or factories. It had always been an idle, passing thought, but Bucky remembered wondering what they had been for. Who had lived there? What did it look like on the inside? Was it once as beautiful as he thought, or did it always look like shit and time had simply caught up with it?

The theatre was, to put it simply, everything he’d ever imagined such a building would be. There were inches of dust on the floor, muting the sounds of their footsteps, and debris everywhere. He wasn’t quite sure where it came from as they followed Steve through a fancy, obviously early twentieth century lobby. It wasn’t quite what he would expect given the number of horror movies Natasha had dragged him to over the years. It didn’t look like there was some mass exodus where people were trampling all over each other, sending papers and furniture in every direction until they were a safe distance from the building. There were no bodies or human remains, nor had anyone dropped clothing or accessories that would be left behind for historians to find if they didn’t deem the building unworthy of their attention (or if wizards hadn’t made this place into some kind of…something). But the floor couldn’t exactly be called clean, either; some of the detritus was from the building where it was crumbling in areas, while other debris _did_ appear to be bits of furniture that had been left to rot and naturally decayed with age. In a way, it sort of reminded him of pictures of the _Titanic_ he’d seen when he was a kid in school—the peaceful scene of utterly terrifying destruction swept away on the tides of time itself.

And Steve had brought them here for…what?

They followed him through the once upscale lobby towards a set of doors at the other end. It took them past a large reception desk where people had presumably once purchased tickets for whatever shows had been playing. On the other side of the portal was an enormous auditorium that had most likely served the same purpose as the massive arenas performers used today. The ground floor had probably been covered in seats that, from the looks of things, were easily moved away for various purposes. The colonnade was overhung with a balcony and, when they continued far enough into the room to investigate the back, there was yet another immediately opposite the stage. Windows were set high in the walls above where they’d entered, letting in natural light that did absolutely nothing but highlight the fact that it had been a _long_ time since anyone had used this place for more than the odd ghost story or urban decay article.

It didn’t exactly inspire confidence that the balconies were also uneven and _wavy_ with age, which Bucky knew spoke volumes for the structural integrity of the place.

Like the lobby, he found himself tripping over debris here and there, yet more evidence that this place had seen far better days. The stage, however, was impressive in the same way most centuries-old sights usually were: clearly extraordinary in their earlier days while simply appearing derelict now, like specters of the past that refused to loosen their hold on the world. The curtain was moth-eaten and the bright red discolored, but it was still suspended over the arched stage in perpetual preparation for the final curtain call.

Which, it appeared, was exactly where they were going.

“Steve, seriously, what the fuck is going on?” hissed Bucky, his skin crawling in this almost tomblike atmosphere. He needn’t have kept quiet: his voice bounced off the walls and was amplified to twice its normal volume in the emptiness around them.

Steve paused for a moment, biting his lip as he glanced between them, and eventually sighed, “Look, you know that case I’ve been working on?”

“The one you haven’t been able to tell me a thing about and therefore _no_ , I _don’t_ know,” huffed Bucky with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, we caught a break today,” continued Steve without paying any attention to Bucky’s anxiety-fueled attitude. “It’s not pretty, but you guys are gonna want to see this.”

“And the Ministry is totally on board with us being here?” inquired Sam skeptically, his eyebrows flying up on his forehead.

“Janet van Dyne signed off on it herself,” he confirmed, pressing forward up onto the stage. At the very back was a door that had been standing open when they entered; as they approached, Steve reached out to close it.

The light from the outside was immediately extinguished, making Bucky shiver despite the illumination still coming in from behind them. Steve pulled out his wand and tapped it twice against the door, paused, then tapped two more times before opening it back up again.

The light was gone, and the creepiest staircase Bucky had ever seen took its place.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” groaned Sam, taking the words right out of his mouth. They stared down at the winding, narrow staircase with identical expressions of trepidation. A formerly gold-colored metal banister sloped downward with the stairs, the steps littered with flakes of paint that had long since chipped off the aging concrete walls. There were windows on each landing, but it descended into utter darkness far below so they couldn’t tell where the thing ended. Even Tony swallowed hard when he glanced over the edge and, seeing what lay before them, jerked back to stare at the wall.

“The stairs are a little unsteady,” warned Steve apologetically. “So watch your step.”

Sam scoffed, but it fell flat in the face of what Bucky identified as the same sheer terror he was also feeling. “Of course they’re unsteady. The building’s practically falling apart."

Nat was the only one smart enough to ask, “Is there a reason we couldn’t just Apparate down here?”

Nodding his head, Steve took point as they descended and explained, “There are wards on the building. Powerful ones, too. The tip we got warned us about that, so we knew we had the right place.”

“What tip?” inquired Bucky, stepping over part of a window frame that had likely come down decades ago.

“The Ministry got an anonymous letter this morning through the Muggle post telling us about some suspicious activity in this building. We thought it might be a fake until we saw just how strong the wards were—whoever was here didn’t want anyone getting in.”

“How is this even in your jurisdiction?”

“Technically, it’s not,” Steve admitted with a casual shrug. “The note said it had something to do with that case I’ve been working, so the Belgian Ministry made an exception as long as we brought some of their Aurors with us.”

“And none of this strikes you as suspicious at all?” prodded Nat as she gracefully sidestepped a nest of _something_ Bucky didn’t want to get close enough to identify. “Anonymous letter telling you _exactly_ where what you were looking for is?”

“I’m with Nat, Steve,” murmured Bucky with a frown. “Something’s off about this.”

“That’s what we thought, too. We couldn’t just overlook it, though.”

“Why not?” Sam grunted. He yelped as his foot slipped on some sawdust that coated the next set of stairs, glaring down at it before he continued, “You could’ve just tipped off the Ministry here and been done with it.”

Sighing, Steve shook his head. “We thought about doing that. Peggy was really pushing at van Dyne to, but…”

He trailed off and, as if things weren’t creepy enough, it seemed appropriately foreboding that they reached the first landing that didn’t have any windows and descended into darkness. Steve lit his wand and continued in hushed tones, as if the building itself might find it offensive for them to speak so deep in its bowels.

“Given the case and what we found… We just couldn’t wait. We didn’t have a choice.”

Bucky opened his mouth to ask what he was talking about when they reached the bottom of the stairs to discover a solitary door and an unimaginably rank stench, following Steve through single file to find—

“ _Oh, my God_.”

This part of the building had probably once been used as storage for scenes and costumes that would one day make their way onto the stage far above. It was a concrete bunker of a room with no windows or natural light whatsoever. Now it appeared to be home to dozens of children of varying ages.

Filthy nests of blankets and discarded clothing were gathered together sporadically across the enormous room, groups of children huddled in each one as Aurors tried to speak with them. Some of the older kids were talking back in timid voices, their eyes distant with an innate sense of fear that shouldn’t exist in _any_ child much less ones so young. None of them looked like they were of Hogwarts age yet, nor would they be for some time. All of them were just as dirty as their blankets, hair askew and obviously unwashed from the odor circulating in the air. There were hacking coughs and cries from the much younger children, illness having spread through them with the poor and unhygienic state of their existence. It was no wonder: the room was damp in places, and Bucky couldn’t see anywhere that held food or water for them.

“How are they alive?” he whispered to Steve, who had brought them to a stop just inside the door. Given the fact that the kids already appeared to distrust the Aurors who were here to rescue them, Bucky figured adding yet another group of strange adults to the mix probably wasn’t for the best.

Swallowing heavily, Steve breathed back, “From what we can tell, there was some kind of human experimentation going on here. They’ve got… They’re covered in needle marks and bruises, some of them have broken bones… We found two dead on tables in the back. They… They couldn’t have been more than five years old.”

“Oh, my God,” Sam murmured, bending over as if he might be sick.

That wasn’t all, though. “Right now, it looks like whoever did this knew we were coming and left in a hurry. There are marks on the floor where we think they had filing cabinets or something, and we found traces of chemicals on the kids’ clothing. My guess is they knew they couldn’t get all the kids out before we got here, so they left them to either be found or die. If Peggy hadn’t figured out the trick with the door upstairs…” Steve shook his head and didn’t bother finishing that sentence. They all knew how it ended.

Across the room, Bucky saw Peggy crouched down on the ground in front of a little girl who didn’t look a day over six. Her eyebrows were drawn together as she listened to the kid try to string together sentences, but it didn’t look like they were getting very far; the little girl was clearly ill, so there was no telling what she was trying to say that she couldn’t quite articulate.

It took every ounce of willpower Bucky possessed not to turn his back on the scene before him. This was what he’d started S.H.I.E.L.D. for. This was why he did what he did. These kids needed help, and that was obviously why Steve had brought them in: until they found out who these kids were and how they could reach their parents— _if_ they had parents—someone had to step in and make sure they were taken care of. And Bucky would be damned if he let them fall into some shithole the Ministry provided where they’d be stuck with possibly hundreds of other kids and not have their needs met.

He forced himself to bear witness to this evil so that they could combat it. Their mission statement said they would be the light in the darkness, after all, and it didn’t get much darker than this.

 

***

 

It took three days to get everything sorted, and Bucky hadn’t slept a wink in any of that time. Neither had Steve, Nat, Sam, or anyone else who worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or S.H.I.E.L.D. By the time Bucky collapsed on his bed the Friday after their trip to Belgium, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get up again for at least a week.

Every single one of the sixty-two children had been taken care of. About ten of them had to go to St. Mungo’s and were currently in critical condition either from illness or their injuries, so there was unfortunately little anyone could do about that until they were released. The rest had been documented under their names if they were lucid enough to relay them or as John and Jane Does if they weren’t, registered with the Ministry’s system for missing or abducted children, and then settled on the residential floor of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Given that there were so many who needed space along with the twenty they were already playing host to, Bucky had to make some last minute alterations to the rooms and thanked every power above that Tatiana taught him the spell to extend confined spaces. Originally, there had been twenty-six rooms, each equipped to house two children.

Now those rooms were big enough to house six and still have room to spare. They wanted to keep the children they’d found in Belgium all together not to isolate them but to ensure that they were with people they trusted. The last thing they needed was a kid going nuclear in the middle of the night if they woke up and didn’t know the people they were rooming with. Tony, who had been remarkably quiet throughout their foray into the depths of the dilapidated theatre, had dished out enough cash for them to buy new clothes and stuffed animals for every kid they’d found and then some. Bucky had seen each and every one of them, including the older ones in the bunch, clutching those toys like lifelines ever since Tony had arrived with about ten assistants wheeling carts of them in from a truck parked on the street outside. It was precious in the totally heart wrenching kind of way.

There were so many things to be done that it seemed they would never finish: food had to be stocked, the kids had to have health screenings, they all needed baths, clean bedding had to be conjured, they needed constant reminders of where everything was, they’d needed to be introduced to all the staff so they wouldn’t freak out seeing anyone new and unexpected… S.H.I.E.L.D. had been more than prepared to handle the influx of kids effectively, but Bucky wasn’t quite sure he’d _personally_ been ready for such a huge undertaking.

Natasha, ever concerned with _his_ health, had been on him about going home for the last forty-eight hours. It got to the point where he _almost_ considered calling Tony about that Secret Keeper bullshit just to get some peace and quiet, but eventually he’d been able to accept that she was merely looking out for him and promised to get some sleep once all the kids were settled.

Ten nightmares, three minor accidents, two bed-wettings, seven sobbing breakdowns, twelve bedtime stories, and twenty-seven required tuck-ins later, he’d staggered through the apartment door and made a beeline for his bed. He couldn’t even find it in him to care when Winter, who had spent quite a bit of time in his office while he worked, settled herself on the side of his face and purred against his cheek. Usually he hated when her fur got up his nose, but this was one instance where he was perfectly fine with it as long as no one wanted him to get up and do anything.

Okay, so _maybe_ Nat had had a point with the whole _get the fuck out of here and get some rest_ thing. Not that he was going to tell _her_ that, but he was mature enough to admit it silently to himself in the privacy of his own room in the otherwise empty apartment where no one else would hear him.

Steve had been working nearly around the clock as well, only instead of handling the kids (which was distinctly Bucky’s job now), he was dealing with the chaos at the Ministry of trying to figure out who the hell had done this to begin with. It went without saying, but Steve had confessed anyway that the case he’d been working on was hunting down missing kids. They suspected some kind of dark wizard behind it—although the Minister was more into the _blame the Muggles_ excuse as usual—and they were probably right. No one had been able to fathom what the experiments were for, and it was still _way_ too soon for them to be asking the kids about it with the expectation of any kind of depth. Bucky and Sam, who was the head of the counseling division and damn good at it, had come up with a plan to acclimate them to their new environment and get them back in the world, especially the ones who had been in the theatre the longest. Then they could begin to work on getting them to talk about what had happened. It would be a slow and painstaking process, but it was worth it.

He just had to remind himself of that when, just as he was drifting off without getting undressed or showering or eating or pushing Winter off his face so he could _breathe_ , his phone rang in his back pocket.

“Nooo,” he moaned, weakly beating his fists against his pillow like a child. He figured he’d been seeing to enough of them recently that it was probably understandable.

Winter meowed in firm agreement, settling more comfortably over his face as he sighed into her fur.

So perhaps he was a _little_ impatient when, without glancing at his screen, Bucky answered with, “The world had better be fucking _ending_.”

“Well, I’m not sure it’s the apocalypse,” mused Wanda’s voice in his _oh so tired_ ear, “but it’s probably something you’ll want to be here for anyway.”

Sighing, Bucky pushed himself into a sitting position and cradled Winter in his lap with an apologetic head-scratching. “What’s up?”

“There’s been a bit of a…situation,” she began tentatively, probably trying to break it to him gently. Usually watching the kids wasn’t really her job; she handled getting them _into_ the residential program and any orientation they would need, but after that there were other caretakers to see to long-term needs. Given the sudden inundation on the third floor, however, she’d been working overtime the same as he had and kindly volunteered to stay the night in one of the resident assistant offices.

“What kind of situation are we talking about?” demanded Bucky as he got off his bed and cast it a longing glance before heading to the door.

There was a brief pause on the other end before Wanda answered, “One of the children woke up screaming.”

Frowning, Bucky pointed out, “That’s…probably to be expected, right? Sam said nightmares would be normal.”

“Yes,” allowed Wanda, “but it’s not the nightmare itself. It’s what they were screaming. I don’t know what it means, but I think Steve should probably hear about it.”

“And Sam,” added Bucky wearily. He set about outfitting himself with Winter’s carrier (which he was feeling less and less ridiculous wearing the more frequently he saw his cat was safe inside it) and settled her in place before he inquired, “What was the kid saying?”

“He said it over and over… Something about cutting off a head, but I couldn’t hear the rest.”

_That’s…definitely weird._

“Is this one of the older ones?”

“No, he’s six.”

That just made it worse. If he were older, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised at all that he was dreaming of revenge toward the people who had taken him from his parents and forced him to become some kind of guinea pig for who knew what experiment. But this was a _child_ —he sincerely doubted a kid that young would be showing signs of latent homicidal tendencies even in the face of all he’d gone through.

Bucky swore under his breath, running a hand over the stubble growing in on his face. (He _really_ needed to shave in the near future.) “Okay, that’s definitely something Steve needs to know. I’m on my way now. Is the kid awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Call Sam and get him in there—wake him up if you have to.”

“Of course you want _me_ to be the one to do that,” joked Wanda. It admittedly fell a little flat, but it was the effort that counted.

“Hey, I own the place,” he teased in return. “If I’ve gotta do everything myself, what do I pay _you_ for?”

“Making you look good,” she shot back immediately. Bucky couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him as she continued, “I’ll call him. Sorry about this.”

“It’s fine,” sighed Bucky. He had resigned himself to a lot of long nights the second they’d found those kids so, disappointing as it was that he couldn’t climb into bed the way he’d hoped, it wasn’t altogether unexpected.

Once the call was disconnected, he took a minute to shoot off a text to Steve to meet him at S.H.I.E.L.D. before stowing his phone and Apparating. Apparently they were going to need all the help they could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having never been to Belgium or the Cinema-Theatre Varia, which _is_ an abandoned theatre built in the early twentieth century, I had to take a few creative liberties with the general layout of the building and the description of the lobby using the resources available. For images, see the links below:
> 
>  
> 
> [Front of the Building](http://www.forbidden-places.net/explos/24/images/photo01.jpg)
> 
> [Building Face](http://www.friched.net/inheritance/varia/b13.jpg)
> 
> [Main Theatre (Rear)](http://photos.cinematreasures.org/production/photos/6771/1308820537/large.jpg?1308820537)
> 
> [Main Theatre Stage](http://www.frensvandersluis.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/Cinema-Theatre-Varia-frens-van-der-sluis-_12.jpg)
> 
> [Full Theatre](http://friched.net/inheritance/varia/b12.jpg)
> 
> [Staircase](https://cdn.tutsplus.com/photo/uploads/legacy/506_urbandecay/33.jpg)


	3. Hail Hydra

It was almost two in the morning by the time everyone was assembled, Steve and Sam appearing just as exhausted as Bucky was feeling as they congregated in the conference room connected to his office. Well, he _called_ it a conference room, but in reality it was sort of an area for him to meet with his employees without having to be a bunch of stiffs at a huge wooden table like some board of governors or something. They had two other conference rooms for that crap; this was more of a haven.

The first time Clint and Sam had seen it, they’d laughed at the fact that it was remarkably similar to their setup in the Hufflepuff common room. There were a number of plush sofas and comfortable chairs scattered around the room in sharp contrast to the stuffy setup in his office, and he’d even put in a fireplace on the far wall for the winter months. He’d left out the plants because he wasn’t really interested in them (and hardly had the time to water them before they died of dehydration), but otherwise it really _was_ inspired by the place they used to call home. He’d even put up their house banner over the mantelpiece just because he could. In the process of hanging it up, he distinctly remembered thinking, _badger pride, bitches_.

This, therefore, was probably the best place to interrogate some poor traumatized kid about what the hell he was dreaming. Sam had brought some of the toys and aids from his own office, which was comfortable yet sort of cramped for all of them inside, but it didn’t make it easier for anyone. Bucky desperately wanted to skip this part and just let the kid off, knowing exactly how it felt to have something terrible happen that you didn’t want to talk about only to find that every single person around you wanted nothing more than to _make you talk about it_ , but there really wasn’t much of a choice. Whatever he’d been saying had spiraled out of control and upset all the other kids in his room, as well as a few in the surrounding dormitories who were able to hear through the (what Bucky had _thought_ were soundproof) walls. None of them had been in a state to speak up about what was happening, though, which meant they would need to get it straight from the horse’s mouth no matter how painful it would be for everyone involved.

Wanda had been kind enough to sit with the boy until they had gathered and prepared without looking like a group of frightening interrogators, and Bucky hoped her calming presence would be enough to put him in a headspace where he would be comfortable with talking. He doubted it, but he could at least _hope_ , right?

“Is now really the best time for this?” mumbled Steve where he was taking up an entire couch.

Sam sighed, idly holding out a cat treat (which he was _still_ carrying around in his pockets on the off chance Bucky brought Winter to work) while Winter nibbled at it. “Not really, but is there ever gonna _be_ a better time?”

“He hasn’t even been here a week yet.”

“And he’s already upsetting the other kids,” countered Sam in his reasonable therapist voice. It didn’t mean he liked doing this any more than they did. “The faster we figure out what’s going on, the faster we hopefully put that to a stop.”

“Plus, we’ll know what to do if any of the other kids start having the same problem,” Bucky observed. Winter crawled back into his lap when she heard how wrecked his voice sounded, and it was all he could do not to use her fluffy little body as a pillow and just conk out right then and there.

“None of us are happy about it, Steve,” Sam cut him off when it looked like he was about to argue again, “but it’s gotta be done. Letting him hold off and hold it in isn’t going to do him any favors.”

Steve grunted, shrugging as best he could with his shoulders digging into the armrest of the couch, but he threw on a friendly smile when Wanda cracked open the door a few minutes later. She stepped inside, a little brown-haired boy clutching her hand tightly as he held a teddy bear in a death grip.

“These nice men just want to ask you a few questions,” Wanda was whispering so quietly Bucky had to strain to hear her. “You already met Mr. Sam and Mr. Bucky, right?”

The little boy nodded once from behind the safety of his stuffed animal, his eyes darting around the room uneasily.

Wanda continued in the same bolstering tone, “And that’s Steve over there. He’s one of the good Aurors who came to rescue you. Everyone, this is Harry Osborn.”

Harry’s eyes automatically stuck on Steve, and Bucky was relieved to see the tense set of his shoulders ease a little bit as he recognized one of the men who saved their lives.

For his part, Steve managed to put aside his reservations and slowly slipped off the couch to kneel on the floor a few feet in front of Harry with a tiny, reassuring smile on his face. “Hey, you’re lookin’ a lot better than last time I saw you. How you feeling, buddy?”

The boy seemed to think about that for a second, his eyes drifting to the side before he shrugged his shoulders. The way he automatically flinched afterward, like he might be punished for not providing an adequate answer, was heartbreaking.

Steve’s smile admirably never wavered. “We were hoping we could talk about that dream you had, if that’s okay?”

True to form, Steve was offering the kid an out. It wasn’t in his nature to force anyone to do anything, especially not little kids who had been through hell. Now, if you were a dark wizard or a huge asshole who’d broken the law and therefore had it coming to you, that was a different story.

When Harry swallowed but otherwise didn’t answer, Wanda sat down on the floor and urged him to do the same. “Sam brought you some toys to play with. Maybe we can talk while you take a look, yes?”

Harry’s expression reminded Bucky of how his own face would scrunch up every time his mom tried to give him nasty potions when he was sick, but he still settled on the floor close to Wanda’s side. His eyes surveyed the toys as if they might bite him, and he made no move to go for any of them.

Sam gave him a few minutes to get accustomed to their presence before prompting gently, “Can I ask what you were dreaming about, Harry?”

No answer. The kid’s eyes darted to Sam’s face and back to the floor in record time. Every other attempt Sam or even Steve and Wanda made to get anything out of him was met with resolute silence. The kid clearly didn’t want to talk to any of them and, when he wasn’t scared out of his mind, appeared to have little-Steve levels of determination when it came to not doing something he didn’t want to. It would have been cute if not for the severity of the situation.

Sam was at it for almost half an hour before Bucky had a sudden idea, scooting forward slowly so as not to scare Harry away. When he caught the motion and glanced up, Bucky smiled reassuringly with a pointed look at Winter. “Wanna hold my cat for me? She won’t scratch you.”

_That_ got him. Harry’s fingers twitched involuntarily as he shifted his gaze down to where Winter was watching him with her big, round, harmless—unless you were out to hurt Bucky, in which case she would _show no fucking mercy_ —eyes. She chose that moment to let out a soft meow, and Harry moved microscopically closer.

“Here,” whispered Bucky, telegraphing his moves as he slowly shunted over to hold out Winter. He didn’t set her in Harry’s lap just in case he got spooked, just held her aloft so he could run his tiny fingers through her fur. While he got acclimated, Bucky quietly rambled, “Her name’s Winter. I’ve had her since I wasn’t much older than you. She’s kinda my best friend—“

“Hey,” snorted Steve indignantly.

“—along with that loser over there.” Harry actually giggled a little at that. Bucky counted it as a small victory. “She’s got a little stuffed monkey sorta like your bear at home. She loves it, usually snuggles up with it every night.” He lowered his voice to whisper conspiratorially, “I think she might like the monkey more than me. It’s so not fair.”

This time, Harry’s laugh was a little louder and banished a few of the shadows from his very young eyes.

“Anyway, she was the only real friend I had for a really long time,” Bucky continued in the same quiet, hopefully calming voice. There was a playful warning in his tone when he offered, “I’ll let you hold her, but you’ve gotta take good care of her, okay? Don’t you make her like you more than me—my heart couldn’t take it, and it wouldn’t be very nice. You got that, kiddo?”

Harry nodded, a tiny smile of anticipation turning up his lips as Bucky finally relinquished his hold on Winter to deposit her gently in his lap. If it weren’t for the fact that Bucky didn’t think anyone would let him get away with it without having him committed, he swore he could probably put Winter on the payroll. She moved slowly, almost sensing how easy it would be to startle the kid, and put her paws on his shoulders to sniff at his face. Harry watched with wide eyes as she leaned forward and licked a stripe up his nose; another giggle popped out of him before Winter cuddled up in his arms and put her head on his shoulder. Harry just kept rhythmically stroking a hand over her back, looking more at peace than he had since entering the room.

A few minutes passed before he said in a tentative whisper, “We used to have a cat.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “My daddy said he was a demon.”

“Yeah, I’ve met a few cats like that,” grinned Sam. “There was this alley cat when I was twelve that tried to eat my owl, Redwing.”

“Really?” gasped Harry, his mouth hanging open.

Sam nodded solemnly. “Yup. Almost got a good bite in, too.”

“What happened?”

“Redwing took off and it scared the cat away.”

“Just ‘cause he flew away?”

“Yeah. Turns out the cat didn’t know it was biting off more than it could chew,” sighed Sam with a small shrug. “Sometimes it takes a little guy to show the big guys they’re really not so scary.”

Harry fell silent, seeming to think that over as he rubbed his cheek against Winter’s head absentmindedly. The cat was starting to look at Bucky like she was ready for some of _her_ human’s cuddles, but she thankfully appeared to realize just how important her presence was right now and didn’t start crying for him.

It was rather impressive that she managed to hold out so long when, about ten minutes later, Harry breathed, “We were back in the basement.”

Bucky sat back and let Sam take the wheel on this one. He’d gotten the ball rolling, but he was no expert; Sam had at least done time in a counseling program so he could help the kids they saw on a daily basis. For his part, Bucky was more than happy to remove himself from the equation.

“In your dream?” clarified Sam gently.

Harry nodded.

“Were the bad guys there?”

He nodded again.

“Do you remember what they looked like?”

This time he shook his head. “They were grown-ups,” he reflected as if that answered everything.

In a sense, Bucky supposed it did. When he was a kid, he didn’t think twice about strangers on the street or knowing what they looked like half the time—they were just _grown-ups_ , and that was all that mattered. Grown-ups were supposed to protect you and make sure you were safe, so it didn’t matter what they looked like as long as they did what all grown-ups were supposed to. Until, of course, they _didn’t_. Add to that the fact that the kids were probably drugged up on something half the time if they were test subjects and Bucky doubted they’d get an accurate description anyway.

Sam appeared to be of the same mind, shifting the subject to a related note instead. “Do you remember what the grown-ups used to talk about?”

“Not really,” muttered Harry. “They used lotsa big words.”

“Grown-ups do that sometimes,” reasoned Sam, sympathetically nodding his head. “What about in your dream? Do you remember if they said anything?”

Harry gulped loudly, his little arms tightening around Winter a bit and his eyes dropping to the carpet. Bucky thought they were about to enter another nonverbal stage of the conversation when he bravely powered through, “ _Cut off one head, two more shall take its place._ ”

Despite the fact that they were trying to keep the kid from freaking out in the presence of four grown-ups he didn’t know from strangers on the street for the most part, Steve jerked upright from where he’d been lounging against the side of the couch. “They said that?”

“Y-yeah…?”

Sam shot Steve a warning glance and drew Harry’s attention back to him by asking, “Did they say anything else in your dream?”

“No.” Harry shook his head to emphasize his point. “They just kept saying the same thing.”

“And they never said what it meant or showed you?”

He shook his head again.

From the look on Steve’s face, however, they wouldn’t need him to know. It looked like he was already aware of it.

“Hey, Harry?” Bucky waited until he had the boy’s attention before he requested, “Would you mind hanging on to Winter for a few minutes? I’ve gotta go talk to Auror Steve outside for a second, okay?”

“Okay,” breathed Harry. Winter purred softly as he hugged her to his chest with a determined expression that clearly said someone would have to go over his dead body to get at Bucky’s cat. He wasn’t sure he cared for that analogy the second it passed through his mind, but it was accurate. This kid was a force to be reckoned with, that was for shit sure.

“Thanks, pal,” returned Bucky, getting to his feet and preceding Steve through the door to his office. A glance at the clock told him it was nearly four in the morning, and he was feeling it in every muscle and bone as he turned to see Steve looking pale and aggravated.

“You mind sharing with the class, Stevie?” he inquired with a sigh. He rubbed a weary hand over his face as if that might bring him to a state of wakefulness again. It wasn’t working.

“ _Cut off one head, two more shall take its place_ ,” repeated Steve with a frown.

“Yeah, that’s what the kid said. You know what it means?”

The way Steve glanced at him didn’t help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “It’s a reference to Greek mythology,” he explained slowly, unable to hold Bucky’s gaze as he began pacing back and forth across the small space in front of Bucky’s desk. “We’ve seen it used as a calling card in a few cases. The myth is about a monster that would grow more heads every time you cut one off.”

That sparked a memory, but it was vague and indistinct when Bucky tried to bring it to the forefront of his mind. He was too tired to try much harder. ”What monster?”

Steve stopped and turned to look at him dead on. “The Hydra.”

 

***

 

> _The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been sent reeling with the recent finding of over five dozen kidnapped children in an abandoned theater in Belgium. The children, whose ages range from four to nine, have not all been identified. However, it appears that those who_ have _been were taken over six months ago in some cases. According to Aurors working the case, they haven’t ruled out dark witches or wizards as the culprits and are still in the process of investigating while the children recover. Those with serious injuries have been admitted to St. Mungo’s Hospital For Magical Maladies and Injuries; the others were placed into the care of S.H.I.E.L.D. until their parents can be found or they can be filtered through the foster/adoption system._
> 
> _The Wizarding world has been rife with rumor regarding the nature of these disappearances for months. New information has been kept out of the public eye as Aurors continue their investigation, but the Minister is adamant that this incident is linked to other situations of violence against members of the magical community over the last five years. In fact, a Muggle (whose name has not yet been released) was recently detained for questioning. It has yet to be determined whether he is guilty of the kidnapping or not but, in a statement by the Minister on Tuesday, it would seem that he has reason to believe they are._
> 
> _“The Security Insight Protocol was put into effect three years ago in order to ensure the protection of every member of our community,” he reminded everyone gathered in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. “Since then, it has provided invaluable information about the correspondence and relations between us and Muggles. Some of that communication has been as harmless as many of us would expect. Others, however, have used their connection to the magical community for nefarious purposes such as the one you see before you today.”_
> 
> _In his speech, Minister Pierce went on to outline that the kidnapped children were used for experiments of an unconfirmed nature. While that is one of many things that Aurors and healthcare officials alike are attempting to discern, the Minister indicated that communications involving the Muggle in custody point to their testing being designed to accomplish three things: discovering how magic works, whether it could be replicated in Muggles at will, or in the case that it couldn’t, determining how to extinguish it in magical hosts._
> 
> _“This is the very reason why we cannot discount Muggles just because they cannot use magic,” Minister Pierce warned. “This attack on our youngest, on the future of our kind, is unforgivable.”_
> 
> _The Minister stated that the Aurors currently on the case will continue working around the clock and report details as they become available, but one thing is certain following his announcement: wizard-Muggle relations will see some bumps in the road in coming weeks._
> 
> _For more on the disappearances – page 11_
> 
> _For more on the Security Insight Protocol – page 13_

“How does he get away with shit like this?!” demanded Bucky, throwing the _Daily Prophet_ down on his desk to turn incredulous eyes on Steve.

“By being the fucking Minister for Magic,” he deadpanned. Steve reached over to take the paper and shook his head as he stared down at Pierce making his speech on the front page. “You’d think people would know better than to listen to his crap anymore.”

“Well, how many people are listening?”

“It’s hard to say.”

“Perfect.”

In the two days since their talk with Harry, Bucky and Steve had been busy, the former dealing with the kids while the latter darted back and forth between the Ministry and S.H.I.E.L.D. faster than Apparition could possibly allow. As soon as Janet van Dyne heard about what had happened, she issued a formal request to Bucky not to release any of the children, to parents or otherwise, for any reason until the department had more information and could ensure their safety. If Hydra was involved, she said she didn’t want them out in the open where they couldn’t be protected. There were wards around S.H.I.E.L.D., care of Tony, and they were supposedly the best of the best—second only to Hogwarts itself. The last thing they needed was to release the kids only for them to disappear again or worse after a few days. They needed information first.

Bucky had thought having her on their side would make things better, especially after the good night’s sleep that he and Steve had both gotten the night before thanks to Nat finding reinforcements. (See: Peggy. The two of them teaming up was a dangerous thing indeed.) Now, _of course_ , Pierce was ready to poke holes in his confidence per usual.

_The next election can’t come soon enough._

Sighing, Bucky tried to calm himself so he didn’t snap at Steve when he asked, “Didn’t van Dyne tell him what’s going on?”

“Even if she did, do you think that’d make much difference to someone like him?” retorted Steve with a quirked eyebrow. “He’ll do anything he can to make it look like Muggles. That’s what makes people feel comfortable. Hydra hasn’t been overtly active in years—the last thing people want is to think that they’re back and doing shit like _this_ right under our noses. And we _still_ can’t find them.”

“Who cares what makes them feel _safe_?” blurted out Bucky, laughing humorlessly. “ _Safe_ would be making sure they’re never in a position to do this again. Not sitting around waiting for shit to hit the fan because people don’t want to see it piling up. Stupid fucking politics, I swear…”

Humming, Steve agreed, “That’s all it is. He wants to get reelected in three years. It’ll look a lot better on his record to say he took care of _the Muggles threatening our community_ instead of how he couldn’t find Hydra to take them out.”

Unfortunately, that was true enough, and Bucky didn’t need to be the son of the former undersecretary for him to understand it. It didn’t make him hate it any less. Pierce wasn’t the one sitting here trying to get kids to eat when they were scared of anything they put in their mouths. He wasn’t the one who came running when there were nightmares or panic attacks that needed responding to. He wasn’t the one who sat on the floor with these kids, telling them stories and letting them play with Winter to make them feel like the world wasn’t coming to an end. (Nor was he the one who’d just placed an order for a pretty obscene number of therapy dogs and cats to serve the same purpose since Winter was beginning to tire of the constant overwhelming attention.)

Pierce had the luxury of sitting in his office on his metaphorical golden throne to lord his authority over them and just _talk_. It didn’t matter to anyone that he was essentially talking out of his ass and nothing he said made a lick of sense in the real world—like Steve said, it was _comforting_ to just get some answers, even if those answers weren’t the ones that fit the current situation. People wanted results, not floundering. That was something Pierce was willing to provide at any cost, including his own reliability.

Bucky had met a lot of people, but none of them had made him want to punch them in the face quite like their current Minister. Hopefully he wouldn’t stop by S.H.I.E.L.D. in the near future, or Bucky might not be able to help himself.

“So what’s van Dyne going to do about this?”

Steve sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “She said she can’t go to the Minister without more definitive proof that Hydra might be involved, not when he’s saying Insight has it on record that this Muggle did it.”

“And how the hell are we supposed to get more proof?” snorted Bucky incredulously. If they hadn’t caught these fuckers in the last nearly ten years, he doubted that was going to change anytime soon unless Hydra _wanted_ it to.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Steve’s eyes hardened as he added resolutely, “But we _will_ find it—I’m not stopping until we do.”

Smirking, Bucky hummed noncommittally. He didn’t want to rain on Steve’s parade—seriously, he _didn’t_. And Hydra would probably be in deep shit one day down the line for pissing off Steve Rogers when he finally had the means to do everything he’d always wanted to in those alleys when they were kids. But he also wasn’t fooling himself: just because Steve _wanted_ something didn’t mean it was going to happen, no matter how stubborn he was. In fact, Bucky had a feeling that this investigation was going to end up being an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object in the most fucked up game of _Chicken_ ever. He really didn’t want to know which would be the first to crack.

 

***

 

“His name’s Cap,” Bucky explained quietly to Lorna, one of their new four-year-old tenants. She was staring at the golden retriever Bucky had brought her like she’d never seen one before. It was hard to tell if she _liked_ him or was _scared_ of him or what when he couldn’t get a word out of her. No one had been able to do that yet, her thumb remaining firmly rooted in her mouth whenever they tried. They wouldn’t give up, though; Bucky just called that _work in progress_.

When Lorna made no move to pet the dog, Bucky gently continued, “He’s a year old. You’re _older_ than him even though he’s so much bigger.”

Her eyes twitched to his before focusing back on the dog.

“He’s gonna want someone to play with while he’s here with us, you know? Kinda like how some of the other kids play together. I’ll bet we could even find a ball so you could play fetch. That might be fun, huh?”

Lorna didn’t answer, but she scooted infinitesimally closer to the dog. The thumb didn’t move.

“Winter really likes him,” observed Bucky in _sort of_ honesty. In reality, Winter really didn’t bother with any of the new animals at S.H.I.E.L.D. as long as Bucky didn’t give them more attention than her (which explained why she’d been hanging all over him for the last couple of days since they arrived). A little white lie wouldn’t hurt, though. “I know you really like Winter. Cap’s a good friend of hers. See?”

Winter mewled in idle discontent when he picked her up and stuck her in Cap’s face. They eyed each other for a long minute, seeming unsure of what the fuck they were supposed to do when Bucky just wanted them to do _something_ cute. Then the golden retriever’s giant pink tongue came out and attacked Winter’s face. She batted a paw at him in a way that managed to _look_ playful when Bucky knew she was really just annoyed at the impromptu bath. Winter had always been fairly mellow unless provoked by something, and she’d managed to perfect that even more as she spent time around traumatized kids with Bucky. She was a pro at it by now, and Lorna was smiling around her thumb at the flat look on Winter’s face when Cap appeared to think she was clean enough.

When she turned that expression on Bucky, however, he knew he would owe her _big time_ for that.

“He’s just trying to be a good friend, huh, Win?” cooed Bucky, discreetly wiping the drool off his cat’s face with his sleeve. Winter made an aborted sound of protest at more inept grooming but let him finish before sinking her claws into his hoodie and climbing up to her post under his jaw. “What do you think, Lorna? Wanna pet ‘im?”

There was a moment when he thought he’d once again get no response and would have to go back to the drawing board—maybe a cat was more her style?—but it passed. Lorna nodded her head uneasily without making a move to get closer to Cap. The dog, well trained in this sort of thing, didn’t move a muscle. He just sat there and watched other kids meeting their own therapy pets around Clint’s gymnasium while Lorna gathered whatever courage was contained in that tiny body. Not having something forced on her seemed to help more than anything, and the hand that wasn’t occupied with plugging her mouth reached out with trembling fingers to just _barely_ touch Cap’s fur. She jerked her hand away immediately, watching to make sure Cap wasn’t going to bite her, but he remained as calm and steady as he’d been all this time. Bucky watched as Lorna’s little shoulders relaxed a little, and she scooted closer to tangle her fingers in Cap’s long fur this time.

Smiling, Bucky whispered, “I’ll let you guys get to know each other, okay?”

He waited for her nod of approval, though, before he slowly got to his feet and took a few steps away. Nothing changed: Lorna even appeared to be a little more comfortable with Cap when she wasn’t under Bucky’s scrutiny, so he turned his back and let them do their thing. He couldn’t exactly blame her, after all, given what she’d been through.

Winter, of course, was happy as a clam to get away from Cap and mewled pitifully into the side of his neck as if he wasn’t showing her the proper veneration for the sacrifice she’d made for the good of that kid.

“I know,” he murmured, scratching behind her ears in the way he knew she loved. “You’ll get extra treats today, okay?”

There was a purr and then a rough tongue against his neck, so he assumed that meant she was cool with it.

Sighing, Bucky moved to stand by the door and leaned back against the wall to watch the proceedings. The animals had been a big hit so far with most of the kids, both the ones who were already staying at S.H.I.E.L.D. and their new arrivals from Belgium. There were a few that wouldn’t go anywhere near them, preferring to sit off to the side and just watch everyone else playing instead, but they were the minority. Hopefully, once they saw that the dogs and cats weren’t threats to them, those kids would open up a bit more as well. Sam had been adamant that they shouldn’t force the issue, letting the children make choices for themselves when they’d had so much taken from them over the last few months.

Speaking of Sam, Bucky couldn’t help smiling as he watched their lead therapist introducing Harry Osborn to his own cat. It looked almost exactly like Winter, although where her left leg was white, the new cat was completely jet black from the crown of his head to the tip of his tail. Harry took to him immediately, though, with none of the trepidation he’d felt the other night in Bucky’s conference room. Although there was still a long way to go, Harry had at least seemed a little less burdened by what had happened to him since telling them about his dream. When Steve and Bucky had reentered the room, he’d been telling Sam a little more about the things he’d remembered through his dream: needles and drugs and weird questions and a man in funny glasses. It wasn’t enough to give them much more than they’d already managed to figure out on their own, but it appeared to help him to say it out loud and know that a room full of adults believed him. He still had nightmares and, according to Wanda, woke up screaming about heads getting cut off; it was also easier now to calm him, though, and he was beginning to acclimate to S.H.I.E.L.D. rather than hiding in the corner like some of the other kids still did. That was progress—Bucky would take every bit of it they could get.

The other kids were taking great strides and tiny steps in equal measures, the older ones appearing to bounce back quicker than the younger ones. It was no surprise, really: the little ones were away from their parents for the first time, and half of them were either too afraid or too scrambled to say who their families were so they could go home when van Dyne gave the all clear. A few parents had come to see their children after their pictures showed up in the _Daily Prophet_ , which Bucky allowed as long as there were S.H.I.E.L.D. employees and security available to oversee the visits. Most parents didn’t make a fuss about that, too happy to see their children safe to really care that they weren’t allowed to take them home just yet. Others, however, had tried to raise holy hell and were escorted out of the vicinity of their children so Bucky could tell them how exactly things were going to work. Once they were calm, most were fairly understanding about the whole thing and acquiesced under the logic of making sure the kids were healthy and whole before sending them home. The ones who _weren’t_ generally tended to become so once Nat _kindly_ reminded them that S.H.I.E.L.D. was currently in direct contact with a rather sizable number of Aurors who would _love_ the opportunity to set their fears to rest. It was pretty effective.

Things had begun to calm down some, which Bucky knew meant it was only a matter of time before they went to shit again.

And apparently their time was up.

“Yasha,” called Nat from the doorway. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Frowning, Bucky gave the room one last glance before taking his leave and accompanying Nat to the elevator. He’d thought she might tell him more when they were alone, but her lips were pursed tight and her expression was shuttered as they waited for the lift to reach their floor.

As soon as they were inside, he inquired, “How bad is it?”

“Rumlow bad.”

Bucky groaned, leaning forward to knock his head against the wall of the elevator. There were probably a lot of reasons why the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic (slash Senior Douchebag of the Brainless Idiots) would be here, although he had to admit he didn’t care about any of them enough to stomach dealing with Rumlow. They hadn’t seen each other except on a handful of occasions since they were in their sixth year given that Brock had gone back to Durmstrang, and never in close enough vicinity to have to socialize with one another.

_Guess it’s my lucky day._ “What the fuck does he want?”

“He wouldn’t say,” replied Natasha flatly. That at least partially explained how unimpressed she appeared with the situation. No one was dumb enough to evade her when she wanted to know something except Bucky—that was the supreme honor he held as her friend, though, so Rumlow had no excuse.

They didn’t have time to discuss things further as the door opened to deposit them on the fourth floor. The last thing Bucky wanted was for his unfortunate guest to be privy to their conversation, so they fell silent as they strode down the corridor toward Bucky’s office.

Brock Rumlow hadn’t changed a bit. He was a little leaner, his face a little thinner, but he was the same slimy asshole he always had been. Standing in the middle of _Bucky’s_ office in _Bucky’s_ company in the building that _Bucky_ owned, he still looked confident enough that you would think he had a hand in making it. Despite how frequently Bucky complained about Tony, he knew that the latter deserved credit for all he’d put into S.H.I.E.L.D. just like Tony knew (even if he chose not to show it) that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t actually _his_. Rumlow had no such reservations.

_Once a piece of shit, always a piece of shit,_ he thought darkly, pasting a totally fake smile on his face and reaching out to shake Rumlow’s hand regardless. His mother’s voice in the back of his head reminded him that it was only _professional_ , even if he’d need to soak his hand in lye afterward.

Because she was the best, Natasha didn’t leave the room, relieving him of Winter and standing in the doorway with her eyes trained on Rumlow. She looked every bit the part of a security guard instead of his assistant director, which was just fine by him. He doubted Rumlow was here to do anything _too_ stupid, but Bucky wasn’t dumb enough to be in the same room alone with the guy either.

“Rumlow, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he inquired in polite disinterest as he moved to sit behind his desk. As an afterthought, he gestured toward the chairs in front of him for Rumlow to sit. There was something satisfying about the power dynamic of being in the driver’s seat while Rumlow lowered himself into one of the subordinate spots, even though _technically_ Rumlow was the one of higher status.

_Well, not according to the_ Prophet _and half the Wizarding world._

“Nice place you’ve got here,” complimented Rumlow with his oiliest sneer. “Thought it would look like shit with all the brats running around.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky intoned, “Maybe you don’t know what we do here, but if you’re going to talk about the kids like that, maybe you should have someone else come to do whatever it is you’re here for.”

Rumlow held his hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender. “Whoa now, take it easy. Just making an observation, Barnes.”

“Well, watch what _observations_ you’re making,” warned Bucky, narrowing his eyes to emphasize the silent threat. “The kids we treat here are just as important as you or me. As I’m sure the Minister would agree.”

“Sure, of course,” agreed Rumlow dismissively. His attitude made the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand on end, not that that was any different from every other time they’d been forced to share the same space over the years. “I’m sure you guys do real important work here.”

“Which, I’m assuming, is why you’re here?”

Rumlow quirked an eyebrow at the obvious prompt. Bucky couldn’t bring himself to give a damn, though: this was his office in his building, and the ass in front of him was wasting his time. The sooner Bucky got him in and out, the better, especially if he could manage it without Rumlow getting anywhere near the kids.

Humming, Rumlow settled back in his chair and explained, “The Minister sent me to ask about the kids you took in from the Belgium case.”

“What about them?”

“How they’re doing, for one.”

Bucky held back a snort with great difficulty and hedged, “They’re doing about as well as can be expected.”

“Health-wise, you mean?”

“ _Everything_ -wise,” corrected Bucky without saying another word. The records about all of their tenants and students were confidential; he wasn’t going to just whip them out and go into detail when it was none of Rumlow’s fucking business.

That, however, didn’t appear to be what the latter had planned. “The Minister wants to know about their mental health and stability,” he pressed on in a tone that indicated he _personally_ didn’t give two shits what the answer to that was. “He’d like to know how their counseling and treatment are going and about any complications that have arisen since their rescue.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help him.”

For the first time, Rumlow’s eyes flashed dangerously in a way reminiscent of their days at Durmstrang when someone got on his nerves. He remained collected, yet there was a slight chill in his voice now as he inquired, “And why is that? They’re here under _your_ care, s—“

“And as such, all their files are confidential,” interjected Bucky firmly. “Anything they say or do in this building is private. The only information we are legally compelled to report are issues that either require them to be hospitalized or show that they are a danger to themselves or others.” Rumlow opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky held up a hand and talked over him. “I’ve read the laws and triple checked with the Office of Records, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

Rumlow’s expression hardened. “The Minister is entitled to a—“

“The records are _sealed_ , which means the Minister is entitled to exactly what I’ve already given you. The kids are doing as mentally and physically well as can be expected given what happened to them. That’s all I can say. End of story.”

There was a pause, Rumlow clearly not having expected Bucky to stand up to him so vehemently. There was no way he was going to give Pierce what he wanted, though, not when it had absolutely no bearing on anything he could reasonably need. These kids had been betrayed enough by adults who should have known better than to mess around in groups like Hydra; they’d been betrayed by Pierce when he decided to tell the Wizarding community that this was all because of a _Muggle_ instead of telling the fucking truth. So Bucky wasn’t doing him any favors, and he sure as shit wasn’t betraying these kids a third time. He’d sooner burn in Hell.

That much must have been evident in his expression, because Rumlow didn’t try to argue semantics of legalese with him. Instead, he attacked the predicament from a different angle: “You know, some would say that you owe your loyalty to the Minister, Barnes. He’s done nothing but try to help S.H.I.E.L.D., even if you’ve been too ungrateful to accept it.”

“That may be,” shrugged Bucky casually, “but I don’t answer to the Minister. I’m working with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement because it’s necessary to bring the assholes who did this to justice. I answer to the head of that department until our services are no longer required, and that’s as far as I’m willing to work with the Ministry on this except for finding homes for these children once we’re able to.”

Rumlow stared at him, his face going oddly blank as they locked gazes. Bucky refused to be the one to flinch on this, and eventually Rumlow appeared to realize it and stood from his seat. On his side of the desk, Bucky didn’t bother.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” was Rumlow’s sarcastic parting shot as he turned towards the door. Natasha set Winter down on the floor, where she scurried over to hop onto Bucky’s desk, and left to escort Rumlow out in silence.

As soon as they were gone, Bucky sighed and buried his face in his hands. The day had gotten off to a good start: he’d had a full night of sleep, the kids seemed to be having a good day for the most part, the therapy animals were going over great—things seemed to be looking up. How could one visit change so much in so short a time?

He heard the door close as Nat reentered his office, but she didn’t move to sit in front of his desk and he didn’t lift his head from his hands.

“That’s not going to be the end of this,” murmured Nat after a seemingly interminable moment.

“I know,” breathed Bucky, dropping his hands to his desk to meet her eyes. “Not by a long shot.”


	4. Pass and Bypass

There were days when Bucky was almost able to forget about politics. He would wake up in the morning, think about what he was going to do with his day at S.H.I.E.L.D. or in whatever limited free time he would have on his day off, ignore the news, and play with Winter. He would put on his chain of family heirlooms, press his hand to each one for the passing of a heartbeat, and then tuck them into his shirt without letting himself get bogged down in old memories. He would go about his life without thinking of the garbage happening at the Ministry because he was _free_ now, or at least as free as any of them could be when the entity they required liberation from was their own government. Nevertheless, he was happy to stay separate from all that bullshit and only deal with that part of his life as necessary rather than the unfortunate alternative he’d lived for so long.

Then there were _other_ days when politics had nothing better to do than test how well he remembered what absolute _crap_ they were.

Unfortunately, it appeared that today would be one of the latter.

> HEAD OF DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT STEPS DOWN – NEW HEAD APPOINTED
> 
> _In the wake of the recent outcry against a Muggle accused of kidnapping over five dozen children during the last six months and allegedly using them for experiments into the nature of magical inheritance, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Janet van Dyne, has stepped down from her post._
> 
> _Van Dyne, who has held the same position for fifteen years, declined comment this morning as she left the Ministry for good. Many of her supporters and critics alike, however, have wondered about the timing of her departure. In recent statements, van Dyne has indicated that both she and the Aurors she oversees will not rest until everything about the incident has been uncovered and a cohesive picture of the events leading up to it has been created. She has so far been true to her word: the department has seen Aurors working around the clock at the Ministry and in Belgium where the children were found in an attempt to locate any accomplices the as yet unnamed Muggle may have had in this endeavor._
> 
> _Now, however, van Dyne has offered no explanation for her egress except to say that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement “requires new leadership in order to strive toward the best vision for the future.” Many would say that she has already worked toward that very goal for over a decade, but the former department head was unwilling to give any further insight into what is really happening behind closed doors at the Ministry._
> 
> _Many of van Dyne’s critics, however, think they’ve figured it out. One high-ranking Ministry official who prefers to remain nameless had this to say about her resignation: “While she’s served admirably for many years, it’s no secret that Janet is getting older. Her post is for the young, those with the energy and vision to take the department where it needs to go in our changing world. That, unfortunately, isn’t a place Janet can take it.”_
> 
> _Apparently, the person who can is Jack Rollins. The former employee of the Department of Mysteries, title and duties unknown, has been appointed by the Minister to take van Dyne’s place as of Monday. While Rollins has been unavailable for comment, Minister Pierce issued a statement during his announcement about Rollins’s credentials and suitability for the job._
> 
> _“Jack Rollins was a student at Durmstrang during my time as headmaster, and both then as well as today, I have yet to meet an individual with more promise. His experience is classified and cannot be released to the public without opening the British Wizarding community up to potential threats, but I can assure you that his work to keep us safe has been invaluable. In light of Janet van Dyne’s resignation, I trust no one else for the job.”_
> 
> _That may be, but there is no denying that Rollins has some pretty big shoes to fill as he starts his run as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on Monday._
> 
> _For more about Janet van Dyne – page 11_
> 
> _For more about the Belgium case – page 13_

“So, how deep is this bullshit about her _resigning_?” asked Bucky as he chewed on a slice of toast.

Steve snorted. “Deeper than Tony’s pockets.”

“That’s pretty deep.”

“I’m pretty sure it breaks records for deep.”

“ _No one he trusts more_ ,” repeated Bucky contemptuously, tossing the paper aside in disgust. “He’s been out of school just as long as we have. That’s not enough time for him to be _that_ well connected.”

“Or that well _tested_ ,” agreed Steve. He rolled his eyes as he collapsed in the chair across the table and stole the other half of Bucky’s toast. He looked so tired after yet another all-nighter that Bucky didn’t even berate him for it. “His record in the Department of Mysteries being classified sounds like an excuse to me. Smoke and mirrors to get people’s attention off the fact that this is the worst possible time for Janet to get kicked out.”

Frowning, Bucky mused, “I don’t get it, though. I mean, no one’s blaming her for what happened, and that’s usually what gets people the boot like this. She’s done everything she can to look into what happened—she’s _doing_ her job.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.” Steve’s eyebrows were furrowed in thought as he continued pensively, “Pierce wants to keep the whole Hydra thing hushed up, right? Janet tried to talk to him about it, but he’s really sticking to this whole _demon Muggle out for blood_ story.”

“So, if she wouldn’t let up…”

“Pierce got rid of her to get her to,” finished Steve with a nod. “Not that we can prove it.”

Bucky snorted, reclining back in his seat. “Of course not. No one ever can. The guy’s slippery. Fucking politicians.”

Steve simply hummed in agreement, glancing at the clock over the stove like he had somewhere to be. It was second nature by now: recently he’d been practically glued to his desk at the Ministry trying to figure out what was going on. The only time he allegedly got up appeared to be to use the bathroom or join some of the rest of the team in Belgium to do more examinations of the building and the wards. Peggy, obsessed as she also was with solving the case, had been the one to call Bucky and tell him in no uncertain terms that Steve was not allowed to come into the Ministry today. It was Saturday, and Steve hadn’t had one of those off in so long none of them could really remember the last time. Hell, Bucky hadn’t been much better with everything happening at S.H.I.E.L.D. recently. This was one of the first days he felt confident that he could stay away without things going to shit, though, and he had been determined to have _one day_ with no mention of any of this shit—at least until Steve had come waltzing in with the _Daily Prophet_ , destroyer of hope and crusher of dreams.

Now he was _really_ shooting for today to be as stress-free as possible. If they were going to have to deal with the fallout of all this on Monday, they should get the weekend to do something else in preparation for the potential nervous breakdown they would both be suffering soon enough.

“All right,” he declared with a resolute nod. “Text Sam and Clint. Tell them to grab their brooms and meet us in Hogsmeade.”

By the time he made it halfway to his room, Steve was still sitting at their kitchen table blinking uncomprehendingly at him.

“Was I not speaking English, Rogers?”

Shaking his head, Steve argued, “I can’t go. I’ve got shit to do.”

“Oh?” Bucky turned back, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and an innocent expression on his face. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

“There’s _so much_ work to d—“

“Which is something you’re _not_ doing today.”

There was that old _Steve Rogers Does Not Approve_ expression. “Buck, I can’t just skip out.”

“You’re not skipping out—they gave you the day off,” countered Bucky with raised eyebrows.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t. You have the day off, that means you don’t have work to do.”

“There’s plenty I could do here.”

“Name one thing.”

A pause. A _long_ pause.

“Exactly.”

“I could at least check and see if they need me to do anything,” Steve sighed halfheartedly. Bucky could see he already knew this wasn’t a battle he was going to win, and it was a testament to just how tired Steve was that he wasn’t attempting to fight Bucky harder on this.

“If they need you, they’ll call,” he reasoned.

Steve nodded reluctantly before pointing out, “They might need you at S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Then they’ll _call_. But right now, we’re _going_ to Hogsmeade and we’re _going_ to play pick-up Quidditch because we’re _going_ to go insane if we don’t get a day to just freeze all this out and be _normal_.”

“There’s no arguing with you on this one, huh?” chuckled Steve with a weak smile.

Bucky grinned back. “Nope. I have it on good authority that you aren’t allowed within ten feet of the Ministry of Magic under pain of torture—for _me_ —from your girlfriend.”

“She wou—“

“Don’t care. I’m more scared of _her_ than I am of _you_. So get your ass up and get your broom.”

 

***

 

It had been a while since Bucky took out his broom just for the sake of flying around, and he felt a refreshing sense of freedom as he kicked off the ground in the empty fields outside Hogsmeade. There was a certain weightlessness to flying that had nothing to do with his feet being dozens or even hundreds of feet in the air; he couldn’t explain it, but it felt like all the weight he’d been carrying around with the stress piled on them was left down below for him to return to later. If things kept going the way they had been, he would have to do this more often.

Sam, Clint, and Steve seemed to feel the same way. Sam and Clint had been all-stars at S.H.I.E.L.D. since they started there, yet the last couple of weeks were where they really shined. Clint, who was generally abrasive as a rule, was loved by all the kids for his sarcasm and inability to treat anybody as if they were broken or somehow _less_ than anyone else. That was something Bucky had always appreciated about him: even at Bucky’s lowest, when he’d lost sight of who he was and where the fuck he was going in life, Clint hadn’t treated him like glass. He hadn’t walked around on eggshells waiting for the moment when Bucky would break. Neither had most of his friends, but they’d still been more gentle with his fragile psyche as a result of the trauma he’d suffered. Clint had no qualms about telling him he was an idiot or that he needed to pay attention or that he was being stupid blaming himself for things that had nothing to do with him. His was the voice that metaphorically smacked him upside the head and ordered him to snap the fuck out of it. That was something the kids flocked to: a person who would see them for who they were and not mince words to spare their feelings.

On the other side of things, Sam’s gentleness had garnered him quite a few fans as well. There were plenty of counselors working at S.H.I.E.L.D., both in full- and part-time capacities, but none were as popular as Sam. There was something about him, as there always had been, that exuded understanding even though he could be a sarcastic little shit when the fancy struck him. He had a sense of humor anyone could relate to and find funny; the kids felt at ease around him the way they would with a big brother, and he was always able to gauge their needs as if he were exactly that. He and Clint had become such staples at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility that Bucky was positive no amount of money could fully compensate them for all the good they were doing. Neither one could be found sleeping on the job (figuratively _or_ literally) since the kids from Belgium had arrived; they had worked just as long and hard as Bucky and Steve to see to it that everyone was taken care of. There was no argument: they deserved a day off as much as anyone else.

That didn’t stop them all from checking their cell phones every few minutes just in case a call came in, but hey, they were adults now and occasionally had to act like it.

Thankfully, they could at least lower their adult-behavior quota to relatively fifty percent for today to just relax as they tossed around a basketball as their makeshift Quaffle in a two-on-two match. (Bucky had considered buying a set of actual Quidditch balls to make it more realistic, but there were too few of them playing and they didn’t get an opportunity like this often enough to make the _astronomical_ price of the set worthwhile. Even just the Quaffle was more than he felt comfortable spending, which was really saying something.)

Their game wasn’t nearly as sophisticated as what they’d played at Hogwarts, but they made it work. Steve and Clint were on one team while Bucky and Sam were paired up on the other, enchanting the basketball to launch itself into the air at the start of the match. They’d been scraping the bottom of the barrel on supplies and therefore brought two cardboard boxes from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s storage space that were floating in the air as goalposts. They did their job: Steve caught the Quaffle on the first launch, jetting around Bucky to take the shot as Sam followed on his tail.

Bucky managed to veer around and get in Steve’s way, throwing a hand in front of the ball so it bounced off instead of going through their box. Sam, who ducked behind Steve’s broom, caught the fumble and turned for the opposite end of their impromptu pitch. In front of the other goal, Clint had taken up his post as Keeper—he was fine with playing Chaser, but it looked like he and Steve wanted to have a _system_. He was hovering to the side as he followed Sam’s movements, gauging where he would shoot from. He thought Sam was going high—

Sam went low—

“Shit!”

Laughing, Bucky high-fived Sam before they launched the ball and started over.

Now, Bucky wasn’t one to gloat, especially with his friends—but _it was truly pathetic just how huge a margin Clint and Steve lost by_. And Bucky would never let them forget it.

As they made their way back into town, windswept and a little chilly from the still cool April air, Bucky was pleased to realize that they’d spent the whole day just goofing off and he hadn’t thought about work once. There was a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest at the thought, but he quashed it as soon as it cropped up. Yes, there were children who needed help and yes, it _was_ his job to provide that help. That didn’t mean he was supposed to give up his life, though. Steve was an Auror—it was literally his _job_ to put his life on the line for those in need, but that didn’t obligate him to put his life on hold either. They were still human beings, and unlike his mom, Bucky refused to let his whole life be about work.

So they piled into the Three Broomsticks, grabbed butterbeers and some pastries, and took a seat by the window where they could see Hogwarts in the distance. It was obviously not a Hogsmeade weekend or else the place would be packed with students, so there was plenty of time and space for them to just lounge around and chat amiably the way they hadn’t been able to of late with all the professional-speak they needed to engage in.

Eventually, of course, the conversation devolved into teasing about the embarrassing moments of their youth—which it appeared Clint had more of than any of them.

“Man, do you remember the time in our fifth year when he thought Stark was on the level about those potions that would make you remember everything you needed for your O.W.L.s?” laughed Sam. Steve guffawed as Clint glared at them.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“Wait, if it _didn’t_ help, what _did_ it do?” demanded Bucky incredulously. Clint was always smarter than most people gave him credit for, so Bucky found it _astounding_ that he’d been naïve enough to think that there was a potion for that. He definitely wasn’t the only one, but still.

Snorting, Steve began to explain, “It gave him boils o—“ before Clint cut in.

“It meant my beautiful face was marred for a week until Madam Bishop could figure out what the fuck was in that potion,” he grumbled, patting his cheeks like the blemishes might return at the mere mention of them.

“Soooo…typical Thursday?”

“Y’know what Barnes—“

“That’s nothing compared to what T’Challa did when he found out,” chuckled Sam, shaking his head at the recollection of what Bucky could only assume was quite a spectacle. “He actually found a way to duplicate the potion and poured it in Stark’s drink during the leaving feast.”

“You’re kidding!” exclaimed Bucky, laughing loudly as Sam descended into fits of hysteria. “That’s amazing!”

“Stark didn’t think so,” grinned Clint with an edge of old, deep-seated vindication. “I’m pretty sure that’s _really_ why Fury made T’Challa Head Boy, though.”

“Yeah, because it couldn’t have had anything to do with the fact that he was at the top of our class,” challenged Steve without heat, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, yeah, that too.”

Bucky chortled at the memory of T’Challa’s face when he’d told them about his achievement. Although he was used to being praised for his fine work, it still came as something of a shock to him to see that the highest academic honor at Hogwarts had been awarded to him not because he was royalty, but because he _deserved_ it. Bucky understood a little of what that was like given the impact his mother’s legacy had on him (and the pity people felt for him after everything that had transpired, though he tried not to think about that), but it had to be so much more intense when you were a literal _prince_.

That, conveniently enough, reminded him that they hadn’t seen T’Challa in almost a year. He was living in Wakanda now that he had diplomatic responsibilities to uphold, so he was frequently too busy to _grant them an audience_ , as Clint liked to put it. An idea occurring to him, Bucky dug his phone out of his pocket and ordered, “Hey, huddle together.”

“Why…?” inquired Clint suspiciously, his expression darkening when he saw Bucky tap the camera app on his phone and switch it to selfie mode. “Aw, hell no, man.”

“We’ve gotta let our dear friend know what he’s missing,” shrugged Bucky with an only half-joking look of solemnity. There was much groaning and fussing, mainly from Clint, but eventually they managed to scoot together to get a picture. Steve and Sam just smiled because they were _losers_ while Bucky put a finger to his face to indicate that a tear was falling from his eye; true to form, Clint crossed his eyes and imitated having buck teeth just as Bucky hit the button.

If the idiot thought he would retake the picture, he was sadly mistaken.

After adding the caption, “ _Wish you were here!_ ” like a terrible Muggle postcard, he followed up with a middle finger emoji before shooting off the text. He surfaced to find Clint and Sam had somehow instigated a rousing debate on which subject was more useful at S.H.I.E.L.D. (joint Muggle and magical sports, which was Clint’s area of expertise, or Muggle technology, which was Skye’s), while Steve was staring out the window, looking wistfully up at the castle in the distance.

“Do you ever miss it?” asked Bucky quietly. Sam glanced over before continuing their conversation on the other side of the table, kindly offering them a bit of privacy.

Steve didn’t answer at first, shrugging after a long moment. “Maybe a little. Those weren’t the _best_ days, but they were pretty good. What about you?”

“I do,” confirmed Bucky. He kept his eyes locked on their alma mater so it would be easier to continue. “I mean, I don’t miss the bad shit. I’ll never miss that, but… It was safe there. We didn’t have to worry about the stuff we do now, you know? I miss that. Life wasn’t _easier_ but it wasn’t so _complicated_ either. Most days we were just worrying about passing our classes and now we’ve got the whole world to think about.”

“Well,” pointed out Steve tentatively, “ _you_ always had more to worry about than just classes.”

_Ain’t that the truth._ “Yeah, I guess I did.”

They sat in silence for a minute before Steve asked him, “If you could, would you go back?”

Oddly enough, Bucky had ruminated over that very question occasionally ever since they’d graduated. He hadn’t been sure what his answer would be before, but as he reflected on everything they’d managed to accomplish—the lives both of them had saved and the good they’d done for the world in general—he couldn’t be selfish enough to wish he could take it all back just to return to a time when things were a little simpler.

So, smiling sadly, Bucky turned back to Steve and responded, “Nah. There’s no going back now.”

Steve nodded slowly, and Bucky could tell from the look in his eyes that he understood everything Bucky had been referring to the way he’d always been able to comprehend the things Bucky didn’t say. And that was all okay. They were grown, but they were still Steve and Bucky. Sam and Clint were still their friends. They’d come a long way, but they remained those two little boys from Brooklyn who Bucky had once thought he’d lost.

And if T’Challa sent him a selfie of his unimpressed face five minutes later, well, that just proved his point even more.

 

***

 

The rest of the weekend passed without incident, and Bucky was happy to report to Nat and Peggy on Sunday night that both he _and_ Steve had managed to spend two days doing fuck-all for their respective jobs. Both women were inordinately pleased. Bucky figured it was a compliment to how much they’d been working recently and honestly, there was no one better to look after S.H.I.E.L.D. in his off hours than Nat anyway, so the place was in good hands.

That meant that when Monday morning dawned and they got up to prepare for work, Bucky was as relaxed as he could possibly feel given the circumstances. There hadn’t been any emergencies, no more awkward lies from the _Daily Prophet_ or Pierce—it was just him and Steve alternating between playing with Winter and playing video games. It felt like when they were kids again for the first time in years, and Bucky would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed doing that. Once everything calmed down, he’d told Steve that they would need to do it more often, to which the latter had heartily agreed.

Sadly, that would have to wait. Steve returned to the real world first, leaving Bucky to feed Winter and give her a few head scratches before he Apparated to Crawley. His cat had been coming with him so often recently that he thought she, too, could use a break from all the kids who wanted to pet and play with her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the attention—far from it—but she had earned an extra day off, especially now that there were other animals to occupy the kids’ time so she didn’t have to. And she wasn’t exactly putting up a fuss to go with him anyway, so he took that as agreement.

When he arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D., it was still early enough that things were relatively quiet: kids still in bed, night crew finishing up the last of their shifts, morning crew not quite on the clock yet. It was admittedly one of his favorite times of day. As much as he loved what they did and interacting with the kids, it was always nice to begin the day on a quiet note to steel himself for anything that might be thrown their way. He hadn’t really gotten that for the last couple of weeks.

Which, of course, should have told him that today wasn’t going to be any different.

They made it to nine o’clock before Skye came sprinting into his office with panic written in every line of her face. “Bucky, we’ve got a huge fucking problem!”

He was already out of his seat and coming around his desk as he demanded, “What is it?”

All manner of terrible things were running through his mind’s eye: a kid had gotten hurt, there had been a fight, one of the staff had been injured somehow, someone was sick. They’d made the facility as safe as they could for the children who stayed there as well as everyone employed by S.H.I.E.L.D., but Bucky had long since learned that there was no telling what could happen regardless of all the preparation they’d put in. He didn’t really remember that being the case when he was a kid, yet miracles happened around children. If he believed something couldn’t be broken, they _broke_ it; if he believed something couldn’t be accessed, they _accessed_ it. It was sort of like those pictures of animals on the internet that got themselves in weird fucking places and no one had any idea how the hell they managed it. Children were somehow exactly that sort of conundrum. So he considered every single thing that could have gone wrong in the instant it took him to get up only to find out that there was one thing he’d missed.

“There’s a bunch of people from the Ministry here, including _Rumlow_ ,” explained Skye, leading the way out of Bucky’s office as they made a beeline for the elevators.

“What the fuck are they doing here?”

“He said they’re here to take the kids.”

Bucky stopped dead, gaping at Skye as if she’d grown another head. That would probably make more sense than what had come out of her mouth. “What the hell do you mean, _they’re here to take the kids_?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged helplessly, jogging to catch up as Bucky stretched his strides to double their usual length. “Natasha’s down there with Wanda keeping them in the lobby, but he’s got an order from the Ministry and he’s not backing down.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about his fucking order,” muttered Bucky darkly. They entered the elevator and he jabbed the button for the first floor, clenching his fists and attempting to bring his breathing back under control. The last thing he needed was to lose his temper at Rumlow and whoever he’d brought with him, regardless of how incensed he was at the gall this took. He’d known they hadn’t seen the last of the Minister’s interference, but he hadn’t thought _this_ was the next step.

Those thoughts didn’t do much to help his endeavor to calm himself, and by the time the doors opened, Bucky was back in a towering rage. As he passed by Thor’s classroom, he poked his head inside despite the fact that he was interrupting a lesson. “Thor.”

The blond turned to look at him from the front of the room with a confused yet prepared expression as soon as he saw Bucky’s face. Holding up a finger to the kids, who were now watching with curious gazes, he moved to the door and whispered, “What’s happening?”

“Lock down the room and all the others. Don’t let anyone in or out until I get back, got it?”

“It shall be done,” he agreed, turning back to the room.

Bucky didn’t wait to watch him follow instructions as he turned back towards the lobby, which was so packed with people there nearly wasn’t enough room to stand. They weren’t Aurors, that much was certain, yet Bucky had no idea what department they were from since he didn’t recognize their robes as anything from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. At their head was Rumlow, facing off against Nat where she was blocking their path back into the building. Wanda and Clint were right behind her; Clint still had his bow in hand from where he must have been teaching archery in his sports class, and he definitely appeared ready to use it at the slightest provocation.

“What’s going on here?” demanded Bucky, moving past them to step up beside Natasha.

Rumlow turned his gaze on him with his trademark shitty smirk. “Barnes, we’re here to take custody of the kids from the Belgium case currently in your care.”

“You don’t have the authority to do that.”

“I think you’ll find I _do_.” He broke off to open a padfolio he was carrying, retrieved a sheet of parchment, and held it out to Bucky.

“I told you last time,” argued Bucky without taking it, “you have no jurisdiction here. Those kids are under our protection, and we don’t work with anyone but the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or Muggle authorities— _when necessary_.”

Rumlow nodded. “I know. That’s where my orders came from.”

Narrowing his eyes, Bucky glanced down at the document for the first time before reaching out to take it as if the thing was cursed. Unfortunately, he only _felt_ like it was.

> _Mr. Barnes,_
> 
> _It is the will of the Ministry of Magic and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that the children recovered from the Cinema-Theatre Varia in Belgium be taken into custody by the Ministry until such time as homes may be found for them, whether temporary or permanent, among members of the Wizarding community. Pursuant to the latest amendment to procedures followed by the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children as enacted by Minister Pierce this past Friday, children who are involved as witnesses or offenders in any criminal proceedings may be placed under Ministry care and custody at any point in time while the proceedings are ongoing. As such, you will be required to surrender any children taken in by S.H.I.E.L.D. who are involved in the Belgium investigation to present Ministry authorities upon request._
> 
> _If you should have any questions regarding the updated procedures and policies, you may feel free to contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or myself personally._
> 
> _Jack Rollins_
> 
> _Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

Bucky could only gape down at the letter, reading it four times in rapid succession with his eyes falling repeatedly back to the seal of Rollins’s new office at the bottom of the page. It was fresh, it was genuine—

“It’s a load of shit,” he breathed. His gaze shot up to Rumlow’s face to see him looking smugger than ever before. It was all Bucky could do not to sink his fist into that smirk.

“I’m afraid it’s official,” was all Rumlow replied with, utterly insincere and uncaring in the face of the predicament this put Bucky and S.H.I.E.L.D. and _all the fucking kids_ in. “So, if you don’t mind, you can go get the kids or _we_ can.”

Shaking his head, Bucky spat, “You’re not taking them _anywhere_ until I get verification on this.”

Rumlow gestured magnanimously and shrugged. “Sure, take your time. I’ve got all day.”

“Nat, with me,” he grunted, offering one last scowl at Rumlow before storming back towards the classrooms with Natasha close on his heels.

“I don’t think they’re going to give us much choice, Yasha,” she breathed once they were well out of earshot and turning the corner to enter her gym. There hadn’t been any students in there, so Thor hadn’t locked up that room the way he had all the others.

“They can’t just _take_ them!” raged Bucky, rounding on her. “Or do you think this is all just _fine_?”

Nat quirked an eyebrow at him, effectively deflating his accusation. “Of course I don’t, but are you really going to try to stand up to the Minister like this? You’ve got no support here aside from us, and that’s not going to be enough right now. They’ll take the kids anyway. The last thing they need to see is violence on top of everything they’ve already been through.”

“I know that, Nat, okay? I fucking _know_ that, but this _isn’t right_! He may be the fucking Minister, but this _reeks_ of corruption for _so many reasons_!” Bucky threw his arms up and tugged on his hair for a moment before jamming a hand into his pocket to retrieve his cell phone. “When an organization isn’t under your power, you don’t fucking change the law to make it so they have to be. It’s _corrupt_ and it’s creating a government monopoly on control. Pierce will be the new Stalin pretty soon.”

“You’re not wrong,” sighed Nat, frowning as he dialed. “Who are you calling?”

Bucky took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his teeth. “That letter said to call the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so that’s exactly what I’m gonna fucking do. I’m not letting those kids go until I hear it from Steve that I have no choice.”

There was no argument from Natasha, and they waited in silence as the line rang and rang and _rang_. Bucky was about to hang up and try again when the call eventually connected, only it wasn’t Steve on the other end.

“Bucky?” whispered Peggy’s voice. There was an echo, as if she was speaking in an area filled with tile—like a bathroom.

“Peggy, where’s Steve?” he inquired immediately, feeling his stomach beginning to roil with anxiety.

“Right now he’s in Rollins’s office with some of our teammates getting briefed on how we’re to handle the Belgium case moving forward,” she responded immediately. She was still speaking quietly and quickly like she was afraid of getting caught. As if sensing he’d put that together, she continued, “I took a bit of a detour when I saw you calling. They can’t do anything when I tell them I was having _lady problems_ without being accused of sexism, so it’s fine. What’s going on?”

Ignoring the urge to laugh at Peggy’s brilliance, Bucky gave her a quick recap of the last few minutes and even read the letter to her. Much to his dismay, she didn’t make one peep of aggravation or surprise from the other end of the call. _Shit, that means…_

“You already knew,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“We found out this morning when Rumlow came down to collect the letter,” she confirmed miserably. “Steve would have called, but they’ve been keeping us busy with how things are going to work under the new regime, so there hasn’t been time.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine.” That was the biggest lie he’d told in a long time, and he knew that she was well aware of it. “Is there _anything_ we can do to fight this?”

There was a brief pause. “Not without getting yourself arrested for withholding evidence in an ongoing investigation or even kidnapping now that they’re officially in the Ministry’s custody. You can appeal to the Minister, but nothing short of that is going to stop it from happening.”

“So I just let them go and hope for the best.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the most we can do for now until we have more information about how things are about to change. Whether they’re at S.H.I.E.L.D. or in Ministry-provided housing, you’re more use to those children _free_ rather than rotting away in a cell in Azkaban for contempt.”

Bucky dropped the phone away from his ear, lowering his hands to his knees as he tried to digest that. It was true, there was no doubt about that, but it didn’t make this any easier. After a few seconds, he brought the phone back up to his ear and muttered, “Okay. You go before you get in trouble.”

“I’ll keep my ears open and let you know if we hear anything else.”

His gratitude was sincere if unenthusiastic as they disconnected and, reluctantly, he turned to face Natasha. From the look on her face, she’d already figured out what they had to do. She didn’t say it, though, giving him a minute to come to terms with everything so he didn’t blow the gasket that was already about to pop. It took a few minutes, not that it helped him much, then he nodded in firm affirmation of what was going to come next. However, if Rumlow thought he was getting off easy, he was nuts.

“I’m going to go back out and talk to them. I want you to get Thor and the others to take the kids back upstairs. Help them gather their things—clothes, toys, whatever—before you bring them back down. Bring their therapy pets with them.”

Smirking slightly, Nat inquired, “Do you really think Rumlow’s going to want to tow all that around with them?”

“Personally, Nat, I don’t give a shit,” grumbled Bucky, moving past her toward the corridor again.

_This isn’t the end,_ he reminded himself as he strode into the lobby with his head held high. _They win this round, but I’m not giving up. They’ll have to go over my dead body to win this war._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished the story today, as you could probably tell from the updated chapter count. I'll begin working on one-shots again now, so thank you for your patience if you've been waiting!


	5. Playground Politics

There were some people who liked to say things about Hufflepuffs. Usually it was neither flattering nor insulting, but hovered somewhere in the middle. Many of the most vaunted witches and wizards had been sorted into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, and Slytherin was known for turning out a few famous dark wizards over the last few centuries. Hufflepuffs, though, were set apart from the rest. Their fame was usually understated and oftentimes underestimated. Gryffindors were the brave, adventurous ones who tended not to look before they leapt. Slytherins made calculating decisions that would assist them in achieving their ambitions, regardless of whether that could get them in trouble. Ravenclaws were brilliant and constantly on the hunt for new knowledge about the world around them, but they weren’t much for conflict.

Hufflepuffs, however, were what Bucky considered the more prudent version of Gryffindors. The two houses were both home to the loyal and the good, although Gryffindors tended to err towards the _greater_ good while Hufflepuffs were said to care about family first. Hufflepuffs could be just as fierce as Gryffindors—they simply preferred to win their battles in a different way than Gryffindors did.

That was why Bucky was dressed in the bespoke suit Sarah had bought him when he was sixteen to go to the reading of his parents’ will. It was still perfectly tapered in around the waist to accentuate his build, which hadn’t changed much in the four years since he’d gotten it. The charcoal color of the suit plus the blue and green tie he paired with it brought out the grey in his eyes so they appeared more striking in the right light. Add to that a flawless hairstyle and, when he entered the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic and made his way to the elevators that would take him to the Minister’s office, he had to admit that he looked damn good.

After all, it was important that he looked his best when he felt his worst.

The wizard at the security station didn’t even bother to question him regarding his purpose for requesting an unannounced, unplanned audience with the Minister. It seemed that he was so star struck by Bucky’s presence that he must have thought a simple Probity Probe was enough to ensure that the highest-ranking official in their world would be in no danger from the newspaper- and tabloid-fodder standing before him. All he did was give Bucky a quick once-over with the device, hand him a visitor’s badge, and direct him to the right floor before Bucky was on his way. Personally, he’d always hated getting that attention and undoubtedly always would, but there were days when it came in handy. Apparently this would be one of them.

Bucky continued on his way to the Minister’s floor unchecked by anyone else. Most of the witches and wizards he shared the lift with got off on other floors, some carrying boxes that made strange noises or armfuls of files that probably needed to be someplace important five minutes ago. By the time he arrived at his destination, however, he was the only one left to walk towards the receptionist’s desk with a dazzling (fake) smile on his face.

When he cleared his throat gently, she glanced up at him and did a double take before her mouth fell open.

“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt you,” he apologized quietly with a bashful gesture toward the stack of papers she’d been going through before he got there.

Oh, there was something else Hufflepuffs were good at, too— _acting_. Angie Martinelli wasn’t the only one good enough to make it to Broadway, _thank you very much_.

“N-no, that’s perfectly fine!” exclaimed the receptionist, whose nametag declared her to be _Gwen Stacy_. She didn’t look like she could be more than a couple of years his senior. She was obviously in touch with the news enough to know who he was, though. Bucky watched as she scooted the papers off to the side before pasting a smile on her own face and leaning forward to inquire, “How can I help you, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky waved his hand dismissively. “Please, call me Bucky. Everyone else does.”

“All right then, _Bucky_ ,” agreed Gwen with her own winning smile. “How is it I can help you today?”

“Well, I know I don’t have an appointment or anything—things have been just so _hectic_ lately, you know?” Sighing, Bucky shook his head self-deprecatingly. “Anyway, you don’t want to hear my sob story. I _really_ need to see the Minister if I can. It’s important and just couldn’t wait another day.”

Gwen’s smile dropped into a sad expression. “Oh no, that’s awful. And I’m _so sorry_ , but Minister Pierce is actually out of the country until next week.”

Only partially feigning his surprise at that, Bucky inquired, “Seriously? That’s too bad. On business, or…?”

“Yeah, he had a meeting in Ukraine with some heads of the European ministries,” she commiserated, taking the bait like a pro. “Some kind of security thing. Is it something you have to talk to him about in person, or could you maybe send an owl to him?”

“No, it’s…of a sensitive nature, if you know what I mean,” whispered Bucky after a glance to make sure they were still the only ones within earshot.

Gwen nodded. “I totally understand. Well, I can leave a message for him, if you want? That way he can get in touch with you for an appointment as soon as he gets back?”

“That would be amazing, thank you.”

They spent a few minutes going over the details of the message and Bucky’s contact information—and Gwen gave him _hers_ just in case he needed to get in touch for _any reason_ because _that_ was professional—before he issued her one final wave (plus a kiss to the back of her hand because, come on, he may as well play it up to get _someone_ in this office on his side) and got back in the elevator.

As soon as the door shut, he groaned aloud. Of fucking _course_ Pierce wouldn’t be here this week. It was odd enough that he was so interested in a bunch of kids when that _really_ wasn’t anything he worked directly with, but now he was out of the country when he knew full well he was the only one Bucky could go to about the new changes he and Rollins had enacted? It was beyond suspicious—it was _dirty_.

Steve had completely agreed with Bucky’s assessment the night before when he got home from work and began a two-hour rant about what a bag of dicks Rollins was. That was actually the _nicest_ thing he’d had to say about his new supervisor, among other insults designed to attack his intelligence, competence, and even appearance (because believe it or not, Steve _did_ have the ability to be rather petty when he put his mind to it). Bucky had listened in silence, letting him vent his frustrations while nodding or grunting in agreement at all the right parts, until he’d finally run out of steam and collapsed in a heap on the couch.

“Pierce has to be insane to put Rollins in charge of the department,” he’d eventually managed after taking a few minutes to breathe again. “He’s got no experience to back up the shit that’s coming out of his mouth.”

Bucky had shrugged his shoulders and pointed out, “That’s perfect, though. If Pierce is going to go around making changes to the rules and shoving his nose in where it doesn’t belong, the last thing he’s going to want is someone who’s got experience and knows what they’re doing. He wants a yes-man, someone he can control when it comes to getting what he wants.”

“Which wasn’t exactly Janet.”

“Which wasn’t exactly Janet,” he’d confirmed.

Janet van Dyne had always been a beacon for the Aurors and anyone else interested in law enforcement. She was notoriously competent and unwilling to be bought by the highest bidder like so many politicians were—and she _was_ a politician. While Steve had the luxury of going in and doing what he’d always wanted to do, she had to play the game. She had to make sure her department got what it needed and that she kissed enough high-ranking asses to accomplish it all. But unlike many, she’d done it with grace. Unlike many, she hadn’t just knelt down and offered to suck it. He remembered occasions when his mom came home muttering to his father about how Janet was the only person at the Ministry who _truly_ gave a shit about doing what she was employed to do. Now she was gone, just like his mother, and the Ministry was down _two_ people who gave a shit.

Bucky couldn’t claim to know Rollins. They’d been roommates, they’d had classes together, but there was never quite the level of animosity between them that he shared with Rumlow. Rollins was quiet and calculating, which was probably why he got put in Ravenclaw. He’d always struck Bucky as more of the hired-help kind of person who didn’t particularly care about what he was doing as long as he was getting compensated for it. When they were in school, that had meant hanging out with Rumlow because he saw the most return from that relationship; now that they were grown, it meant cloistering himself in the Department of Mysteries to do his own thing and get paid for it without having to deal with a bunch of people all day. Not that Bucky knew a great deal about the inner workings of the Department of Mysteries—no one did—but Jarvis worked down there and had told him a bit about what it was like: lonely but profitable. Anything else truly _was_ classified and therefore couldn’t be mentioned in conversation; Jarvis had confirmed their work was important, though, hence the sizable paycheck.

It was right up Rollins’s alley, as was taking the promotion (and substantial pay increase) to head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and ingratiating himself to the biggest bully on the block as a result, just as he’d done at Durmstrang and Hogwarts. Pierce was Rumlow only a thousand times worse: the latter was essentially harmless, but once you were in Pierce’s good graces or he _wanted_ something from you, you’d be taken care of until he tired of your presence. That was the part Bucky wondered if Rollins was aware of.

And it was also the part that had him jabbing the button for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement rather than returning to the Atrium the way he was technically supposed to. The Ministry had fucked over the kids under his care enough in the last couple of weeks that he honestly didn’t give a shit about doing the same to them. He was in the building and they were aware of it. They didn’t need to know where _exactly_ he was. For once, he would take full advantage of his status as James Barnes: son of former Senior Undersecretary Winifred Barnes, sympathetic orphan who defied the odds, and selfless founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.

No one paid him any mind when the doors slid open to deposit him amidst the cubicles and harried conversations. Interdepartmental memos were floating by overhead as paper airplanes, darting around from desk to desk bearing important information (or, more likely, lunch requests). Glancing at the directory, Bucky swung a right and followed the corridor down to the last row of cubicles to see a familiar blond head at the first desk on the left.

“Ah, our men in… _black_ hard at work,” declared Bucky, draping an elbow over the wall of Steve’s cubicle with a solemn expression. “This is what I call putting tax dollars to good use.”

Steve started in his seat, shaking his head like he was stuck between shock at seeing Bucky there and amusement at his jibe. “Buck?”

“Stevie.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” He glanced over his shoulder toward the glass-walled office in the far corner before leveling a stern gaze at Bucky. “Does security even know you’re down here?”

“Sure.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, so they knew I was going to the Minister’s office.”

Groaning, Steve covered his face with a hand yet incongruously snorted in amusement. “You could get in serious trouble for this.”

“Pierce wasn’t even there, so I figured this was a pretty good consolation prize,” shrugged Bucky as if it made all the sense in the world. He wondered if security would feel the same if anyone had the balls to call them while simultaneously hoping he wouldn’t have to find out. “Anyway, I’m not here for your ugly mug. Is Rollins in his office?”

“Yeah…” Steve trailed off, his eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to say something else. Bucky never found out what since Peggy approached on his right with her hands on her hips and cut him off.

“James Buchanan Barnes, what the bloody hell are you doing here?” she hissed, mimicking Steve by peering cautiously in the direction of what he was now guessing to be Rollins’s office.

Smirking, he pointed out, “You know, I think you just channeled my mom. I’m here to see Rollins.”

Peggy ignored the first part and rolled her eyes at the second. “Please tell me you’re not under the misguided impression that Rollins has any control over what Pierce did to S.H.I.E.L.D. yesterday.”

“I’m not,” he reassured her dismissively. That was the honest truth: he knew for a fact that Rollins wouldn’t be able to go against the Minister, nor could he be convinced to try. They didn’t need to talk for him to realize it. However, there was something else he desperately wanted that Rollins just might be able to provide. It required Bucky to pull some teeth in order to get it out of him, but it would be worth the effort.

“Then why—“

“Look, as Steve so kindly pointed out, my badge isn’t exactly for _this floor_ ,” he murmured just loud enough for only Peggy and Steve to hear. “I’ll tell you guys why I’m here later, but right now I want to get in to see Rollins before someone _else_ realizes it’s not for _this floor_. Okay?”

Steve and Peggy exchanged a long, silent conversation. It only seemed appropriate for Bucky to give them some privacy (or at least not freak himself out by trying to read their minds), so he observed the other Aurors doing…whatever it was Aurors did when they weren’t out in the field until Peggy sighed in capitulation.

“I’ll take you to him,” she offered. Her tone hardened, however, when she warned him, “But do _not_ do anything rash in there. I’m telling you, now isn’t the time to throw your weight around.”

 _Actually, I think this is exactly the right time to throw my weight around,_ Bucky decided not to argue as he nodded in silence. He’d learned a lot of things from his mother that he attempted to put out of his mind on a daily basis, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still there when he required it. He knew quite well that when things were the most unstable was the best time to get what you wanted because no one would do anything to make their position even more unsteady by fighting.

His mom was the woman who’d looked the Minister for Magic in the eye and said, “I hold the second-highest office in the British Wizarding world. I don’t eat shit. I _serve_ it.”

Well, James Barnes was the son of the person everyone venerated as one of the most benevolent, inspirational witches of the century. He’d be damned if he was going to eat anyone’s shit either. Not this time.

It struck him as he followed Peggy towards the corner office that he’d had a rather dangerous combination of parental personalities: the strong will of his mother mixed with the moral tenacity of his father. Honestly, with family like _that_ , could anyone truly blame him for the lengths he was willing to go to for these kids?

_Of course not._

Bucky waited while Peggy knocked on Rollins’s door and poked her head in to exchange a few words that he couldn’t hear from where he was standing outside. When Peggy emerged, she gave him a quick look that reiterated everything he was ignoring before stepping aside for him to enter.

Unlike the other offices Bucky was accustomed to seeing in the Ministry, the space designated for the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was utterly unimpressive. It basically looked like someone had erected walls around yet another cubicle for all the effort they’d put in. Rollins ultimately had one desk situated in the middle of the space facing the door, one pathetic metal chair in front of it, a lamp in the corner, and a plant that he’d probably inherited from Janet at the far side of the room. There was nothing personal; it was all very sterile and remote, as Rollins’s personality tended to be, and suited him perfectly.

The man himself hadn’t changed since the last time they saw each other. He still had his hair slicked back to the point where it looked _oily_ rather than _stylish_ , and his face was just as angular and stoic as before. There was nothing in his eyes as he surveyed Bucky from behind his desk. That could either work _for_ or _against_ him: Rollins didn’t radiate the same enmity that Rumlow would have worn on his sleeve, but he wasn’t exactly exuding the warm fuzzies either.

Still, Bucky could work with that.

Closing the door behind him, Bucky began with as much sincerity as he could muster, “Congratulations on the promotion.”

It probably fell flat, but hey, he’d exhausted most of his acting skills on Gwen Stacy.

Rollins grunted in acknowledgement before nodding pointedly at the chair in front of his desk. It was actually surprising that he’d managed to remember even that little bit of office etiquette, and Bucky offered a quick word of thanks as he took a seat.

“Auror Carter said you wanted to talk,” stated Rollins in a detached monotone. “If it’s about the case, the—“

“No, it’s not that,” interjected Bucky. It took every bit of self control he had not to add, _Although now that you mention it…_

“Then what is it?”

Bucky took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “You guys pulled the rug right out from under us. And I get why,” he hastened to admit when it looked like Rollins was about to interrupt. “I get that, we all do. Pierce tells you what to do, and it’s your job to do what he says. Trust me, I remember how that works. I’m not here to get the kids placed back at S.H.I.E.L.D. if it’s the Ministry’s will to keep them here.”

In reality, he’d march an army on the Ministry to get those kids back, but he doubted that would be a feasible option at this particular juncture.

“I was just hoping you could tell me where they’ve been placed so we can add it to their files.”

Rollins didn’t even think about it. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re not your concern anymore.”

“With all _due_ respect,” retorted Bucky, making it quite clear that by _due respect_ he meant _none_ , “those kids were in our care, and we’re obligated to keep detailed information about everything that transpired from the time they came through our doors to the time they left. That includes maintaining records about where they were transferred so that we can prove to the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children that we didn’t just abandon them somewhere. This isn’t about Pierce or the change in regulations—it has everything to do with making sure our doors stay open by having all our affairs in order.”

It was another half-lie: they _were_ required to keep records in case they had to present it during adoption or custody proceedings, but it wasn’t the only reason he was there. Janet had wanted S.H.I.E.L.D. to maintain custody until the threat from Hydra was diminished; it was up to Bucky to make sure that wherever the kids were wasn’t going to put them in the same danger all over again.

His appeals, however, fell on deaf ears. “As far as S.H.I.E.L.D. is concerned, you can put that the Ministry took custody of the children. Any further questions about what happened to them after can be directed to me,” Rollins ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

But Bucky didn’t come here to take _no_ for an answer until he’d exhausted all avenues. “So you’re saying that the custody of the kids and the responsibility for making sure they’re being taken care of falls to just _you_?” Bucky snorted. “That’s shit luck. Something happens to them, it’s _your_ fault. Not mine, not Pierce’s— _yours_.”

Rollins stared at him blankly, refusing to rise to the bait. That more than anything else was what set Bucky off—that a man could look at a situation like this and feel _nothing_. Rollins obviously wasn’t concerned with whether the kids actually got what they needed, nor did he appear to care a whole lot about the case itself between what Bucky had witnessed since entering the office and the pieces Steve had filled in for him at their apartment. How could anyone entrust children to the care of someone who didn’t give a damn?

Bucky refused to say all that out loud, though. Instead he just got to his feet, informed Rollins that they would put everything he said in their records and report it to the welfare office just to cover S.H.I.E.L.D.’s ass, and got the fuck out of there without even glancing in Steve or Peggy’s direction.

Plan A had failed. Plan B had been an unmitigated disaster given the nausea that was now swirling in his gut.

But he was a Barnes, and he was ready to fight all the way through Plan Z to the infinite power if that was what it took.

 

***

 

“Johnny, put the matches down and step away from the plant.”

The kid screeched to a halt at the sound of Bucky’s voice, turning to grin innocently over his shoulder. “I wasn’t doin’ anything!”

“Sure you weren’t,” sighed Bucky. He held his hand out and, when Johnny still didn’t hand over the matches, sternly glared down at him. “You can either give them to me now or I can summon them and you give up your _dessert_ tonight at dinner.”

With a wordless cry of despair at how unfairly he was being treated, Johnny surrendered the book of matches that Bucky was going to fucking find out how he got his hands on and darted off to _hopefully_ get back to class where he belonged. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t like the kid—in fact, he was hysterical and had a rather likable personality—but it was nearly _every other day_ that they were finding him with things that were supposed to be either locked up or forbidden on the premises. Bucky made a mental note to put the issue at the top of the list of problems that needed solving during their next staff meeting.

Of course, he wasn’t exactly in the best of moods recently anyway. It had been nearly a week since he’d spoken with Rollins and failed to get an audience with Pierce, who still hadn’t gotten back to him despite Gwen’s reassurances. In that time, he’d successfully contacted his Plan C (against his instincts telling him to run for the hills instead) and settled back into the familiar routine of daily life at S.H.I.E.L.D. when it wasn’t actively involved in thwarting some nefarious plot to kidnap and exploit children.

He should have been happy to have that stress off his chest, but all it did was make him uncomfortable that he hadn’t seen things through to the end. Steve was feeding him whatever news he could get his hands on every day, yet Bucky still felt like a failure for not knowing what had happened to those kids or where they’d ended up.

So when he entered his office to see Natasha in his chair with her feet up on the desk and reading the _Daily Prophet_ , he couldn’t help but feel a pang of mingled curiosity and anguish. On the one hand, the _Prophet_ had been the bane of his existence for years, but on the _other_ …

“Your interview made the front page,” Nat informed him with obvious satisfaction.

“How bad is it?” asked Bucky with a grimace, not sure whether he wanted to read it or not. The choice was taken away from him when Nat held the paper out for him to take.

“See for yourself.”

Groaning, Bucky snatched the paper away— _of course it wouldn’t be that easy_ —and moved into his conference room to collapse on his favorite sofa with Nat dropping down beside him. After a deep breath, he forced his eyes down to the headline and began to read.

> MINISTER MANIPULATOR? – THE BATTLE BETWEEN THE MINISTRY AND S.H.I.E.L.D.
> 
> BY CHRISTINE EVERHART
> 
> _Everyone knows two things with absolute surety. The first is that sixty-two children were found almost a month ago at the Cinema-Theatre Varia in Belgium and were taken to S.H.I.E.L.D. until their parents were found or adoptions could be finalized. The second is that the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., James Barnes, is not a fan of doing interviews._
> 
> _There has only been one instance prior to this article where Barnes has ended his silence to speak with me, and I was grateful to him for sitting down with me in his office to discuss the situation that has arisen at the Ministry. What I discovered was more than I had bargained for, and with apologies to Mr. Barnes, I spent the last few days researching to find out if everything was really as he said. Unfortunately, it was. Below is a transcript of our conversation, an enlightening piece that may make you rethink how you’ll vote in the next election._
> 
> _~_
> 
> _CE: James, thank you so much for meeting with me._
> 
> _JB: It’s my pleasure. Thanks for coming._
> 
> _CE: When we spoke earlier by owl, you said that there were a few things you were unsure of regarding the treatment of the Belgium case._
> 
> _JB: I did, yeah._
> 
> _CE: Would you care to clarify what you meant by that?_
> 
> _JB: That would be kind of hard since most of what’s been printed in the_ Prophet _is a bunch of lies anyway._
> 
> _CE: That’s a pretty heavy accusation. Care to elaborate?_
> 
> _JB: Just tell me what you want to know._
> 
> _CE: Well, let’s start with the basics. S.H.I.E.L.D. took custody of the children that were found in Belgium, correct?_
> 
> _JB: That’s right. I mean, that_ is _our job._
> 
> _CE: True. And we know that those children were here until fairly recently. Is that also correct?_
> 
> _JB: Yeah._
> 
> _CE: Now, when I look back at our previous issues of the_ Prophet _, the first thing that was printed aside from those facts was a recap of the Minister’s speech when a Muggle was arrested in connection with the kidnappings._
> 
> _JB: That’s the first lie._
> 
> _CE: How do you know that?_
> 
> _JB: [pauses] Because we at S.H.I.E.L.D. as well as many Aurors at the Ministry have reason to suspect that the terrorist organization known as Hydra may have been behind the whole thing._
> 
> _CE: Hydra? They’re the group that…_
> 
> _JB: That killed my family and a lot of other innocent people, yeah._
> 
> _CE: They haven’t exactly been as active recently. Was evidence found to corroborate that claim?_
> 
> _JB: We did find something, but unfortunately it’s part of a sealed record, so I can’t explain what it is._
> 
> _CE: Is there anything you_ can _tell us about it?_
> 
> _JB: [pauses] I can tell you that there was a conversation overheard, and the subject matter makes it pretty obvious who was behind it all._
> 
> _CE: Fair enough. You said there are Aurors who also believe the same thing. Did they take their concerns to the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?_
> 
> _JB: They did. It was still Janet van Dyne at the time, and she was one of the people who agreed that it all seemed suspicious. She thought the evidence was enough to have us keep the kids at S.H.I.E.L.D. until we could be certain that their safety was guaranteed when they were released to either their families or new ones._
> 
> _CE: How soon was this before her resignation?_
> 
> _JB: It wasn’t long before she got canned._
> 
> _CE: You’re saying she was fired?_
> 
> _JB: I’m saying it sounds pretty strange that she believed Hydra had something to do with what happened to the kids even though the Minister was blaming Muggles the way he always does, and that she was so determined to take them down, but she just… She suddenly_ stepped down _after I refused to give information about those same kids to the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic? It doesn’t sound right._
> 
> _CE: Wait, let’s look back at that a second. You refused to give the Minister information about the children?_
> 
> _JB: The information he was looking for was protected under the Record Confidentiality Codes issued by the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children and even under doctor-patient confidentiality. It would have been illegal for me to give it to him, which he knew when he sent his assistant, and they tried to get me to do it anyway._
> 
> _CE: Was there any fallout from that?_
> 
> _JB: The Minister changed the procedures and sent his assistant back to take all the kids into Ministry custody less than a week later._
> 
> _CE: Isn’t_ that _illegal? Once they’re under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s care, they stay there until [the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children] finds homes for them or if they require specialized treatment, right?_
> 
> _JB: It was before he changed the rules._
> 
> _CE: Why do you think he did that?_
> 
> _JB: He wanted what he wanted and when I didn’t give it to him, he acted like a—like a two-year-old who changes how you play a game when they start losing. He didn’t care what it would do to those kids, who were_ finally _starting to get used to things at S.H.I.E.L.D. and didn’t want to leave, by the way._
> 
> _CE: Have you been able to find out where they were sent?_
> 
> _JB: No. I’ve tried to get in touch with Minister Pierce, but he hasn’t gotten back to me. Janet’s replacement, Jack Rollins, flat out told me he wasn’t saying anything even though I need that data for our records on the kids._
> 
> _CE: So you have no idea where they are now?_
> 
> _JB: None. Anything could have happened to them and we’ll have no idea._
> 
> _CE: Do you think that was done on purpose?_
> 
> _JB: Definitely. If any of those kids can prove that Pierce is_ wrong _and that Muggle is innocent, it’ll make him look like an idiot. It’ll totally go against everything he’s working for to make us so afraid of Muggles that we won’t want anything to do with them. As long as they’re in the Ministry’s hands, he can control who hears what they say. Anyone who doesn’t want to end up like Janet van Dyne will keep their mouth shut and all this will get smoothed over as soon as that Muggle is sentenced. End of story, no need to fear because the Minister has saved the day. It won’t matter that Hydra’s still out there somewhere._
> 
> _CE: Is that why you decided to do this interview when you’ve been notorious for avoiding them in the past? To stop Hydra?_
> 
> _JB: That’s part of it. People don’t know… [pauses] They don’t know what the real danger is, and they need to if we’re going to avoid putting innocent people in jail and letting guilty ones go free. Our politicians should be trying to protect us, not give us [expletive removed] excuses for things that are comforting but don’t actually solve any problems. I watched my mother go through this kind of thing for as long as I can remember. That was part of what she was fighting against. If I sit here and keep my mouth shut when I_ know _something’s going on, I’m just as bad as the people who are putting us in danger in the first place. I refuse to be part of the problem, so—yeah, I really hate interviews, but you know what? I’ll do it anyway because it’s the right thing to do. I’m lucky enough to be in a position where people listen to what I have to say, so trust me when I tell you I’m not just going to talk to the_ Prophet _all the time and say a bunch of stupid [expletive removed]. If I’m talking to you, it’s because it’s important. This is huge. We can’t let them get away with this—not Minister Pierce, not Hydra, none of them. It’s time to hold the Ministry accountable and start paying attention to what’s really happening in our world before things get worse than they already are. And if you don’t care about that, then think about the kids who’ll suffer for it. Because this isn’t going to stop until we do something to_ make _it stop._
> 
> _~_
> 
> _*All actions alleged to have been taken by the Ministry in this interview have been confirmed by anonymous sources within the Ministry of Magic._
> 
> _For more about James Barnes – page 11_
> 
> _For more about S.H.I.E.L.D. – page 12_
> 
> _For more about the Belgium case – page 13_

Bucky sighed, dropping the newspaper to the floor. “You don’t think it makes me sound like some crazy conspiracy theorist, do you?”

“I think it's just the right amount of crazy,” remarked Nat in what was probably meant to be a comforting tone. When Bucky responded by flipping her off, she snorted. “I mean, you came on pretty strong, but I think that’s good. It shows how passionate you are about what you were saying.”

“And she found evidence,” he observed with a hopeful shrug. “I mean, I guess that’s something.”

“It’s going to be fine, Yasha,” she murmured, pulling him over to lay his head on her shoulder. “One way or another, it’s going to be fine.”

 

***

 

In the wake of his interview, Bucky received a ridiculous amount of mail at S.H.I.E.L.D. from people offering their support and people offering the names of good therapists. Most of them were the former, however, most of whom mentioned that they’d had their doubts about the Pierce administration since his mom had pointed out similar concerns during the 2010 election. The _Prophet_ also saw an increase in letters to the editor talking about his interview and blasting the Minister’s actions in taking the kids away from where they’d been comfortable and felt safe to put them…where again? Lots of those letters were calling for the Minister to open his mouth and tell people where the kids had gone, but there had been nothing but radio silence from the Ministry.

It was pretty smart. There was no way for Pierce to win that battle: either he got up and told people where the kids were, which could potentially put them in danger, or he said Bucky was a delusional idiot with a vendetta and pissed off everyone who’d been invested in Bucky’s success since he was a baby. Silence was definitely the best option, neither confirming what Bucky had said nor handing them a shovel and telling them to start digging. It was honestly too bad Pierce was such a good (see: _typical_ ) politician. Bucky would have loved to see him hoisted on his own petard.

He wasn’t stupid enough to think that there wouldn’t be reprisals of some kind for what he’d done, though, and he was thankful for the amazing team of friends and employees he had watching his back in the days following the release of his interview.

Unfortunately, while he’d been expecting political backlash or someone dragging S.H.I.E.L.D.’s image through the mud somehow, he had surprisingly not been quite so vigilant in other areas.

The section of southeast Crawley where S.H.I.E.L.D. was located had a lower crime rate than the rest of the city in recent years. That was one of the reasons Bucky had chosen it for their headquarters: if you were going to shelter kids, you should probably do it in a place where they could reasonably expect to be protected even outside the wards. Besides, Bucky was well aware of the fact that he would have employees coming and going at all times of the day and night for their shifts. Thanks to Tony’s wards, there was no way they could Apparate or use a Portkey to get directly inside the building; they had to use the side alley for any magical transportation so they were hidden from Muggle eyes but still safe, and there hadn’t been any trouble in the nearly three years that S.H.I.E.L.D. had been in operation.

So, when Bucky locked the doors behind him and strolled down the sidewalk toward the alley to head home for the evening, he didn’t think twice about it until he saw that he wasn’t the only one there. His hand tightened around the wand in his pocket as he approached, although he knew that if they were Muggles, there would be nothing he could (magically) do to them without putting himself in massive trouble with the Ministry—and given what was going on, he didn’t want to hand them a reason to string him up for the world to see what a joke he was. Instead, he forced himself to release his wand and pulled both hands out of his pockets so he would be ready…just in case.

At first, the four guys by the dumpster didn’t pay him any mind. Two of them were smoking while the third drained a bottle of beer like a drowning man; the fourth was just leaning against the wall listening to their idle chatter. They looked just like anyone else enjoying their evening with a beer and some friends after work, and Bucky was beginning to think that he was just being a little paranoid—

—until they started following him down the alley as soon as he walked past.

Sighing, Bucky sped up to see if they would be deterred by his obvious awareness of their actions. They weren’t.

He briefly considered just Apparating right then and there, but that would require _stopping_ , which was probably not the smartest idea even for the second or two it would take him to initiate transportation. What if one of them got close enough to grab on? What if he ended up taking them with him—or worse, Splinching himself in the process? The mere notion sent a shock of phantom pain through his left arm. No, this was something he would have to face until it was safe enough to get away. He still had the advantage anyway: they had been a good distance behind him when they started following, so he could let them know he was aware of their presence and hopefully show them he wasn’t going to be easy prey to make his escape easier.

When he whirled around to confront them, though, he got a fist to the gut that knocked the wind out of him. He distantly wondered how they’d gotten that close so quickly, but it fled his mind when a heavy boot connected with his ribcage and sent waves of pain shooting out to his limbs.

He tried to think of something fast— _anything_ about what Natasha had been teaching him. There was nothing in his memory about what to do if an enemy got you on the ground and was beating the shit out of you with three other guys watching, though, so Bucky had to improvise.

Fighting the overwhelming urge to just remain curled in the fetal position until they went away, he channeled the kid who used to yank Steve’s ass out of every alley in Brooklyn and blindly kicked his leg out. It caught something hard and unyielding. He heard the guy attacking him grunt in pain, pausing just long enough to give Bucky an opening to pull back his fist and ram it into the guy’s groin.

_How the fuck does that feel, asshole?_

Bucky staggered up onto his knees, the other three guys moving in now that they saw one wouldn’t be enough to take Bucky down. It immediately became obvious that this wasn’t a typical mugging: they weren’t asking for his wallet or any valuables he might have on him, nor had they bothered to search his messenger bag where he’d dropped it on the ground when he fell. These guys were out for blood— _his_ blood.

The one who’d attacked first was still on the ground nursing his balls when the tallest kicked a foot out towards Bucky’s chest. He caught it and yanked counterclockwise, throwing the guy off balance. As he stumbled and nearly fell, the other two came at Bucky from both sides to try to grab his arms. One of them caught Bucky’s wrist as it flew towards his face, but Bucky used the momentum of his punch to throw himself forward and tackled the guy into the brick wall behind him. His opponent let out a pained _oof_ before shoving him roughly away, and Bucky stumbled backwards into one of the others. Suddenly his arms were pulled roughly behind his back and there was another fist in his stomach—and another—and another—

Bucky gritted his teeth through the pain. He’d had worse than this. All he had to do was remember Splinching himself to recall just how badly his body could hurt. This was nothing by comparison.

He used the guy behind him to support his weight as he threw himself back and kicked out with both legs. They made contact with the tall one’s chest and sent him hurtling backwards into the guy Bucky had tackled before.

Whoever was holding him cursed before doing something that made it so Bucky didn’t know which way was up until he landed face-first on the pavement.

There was a hand in his hair, gripping tight and yanking up _hard_ —

Then slamming his face down over and over and over and over and over and over—

Then the asphalt was the only thing he knew until he mercifully lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's statement about looking your best when you feel your worst and the memory of his mother saying she doesn't eat shit are based on quotes from "Political Animals."


	6. Low Key

Bucky’s face hurt. It didn’t help that something was licking it.

Grunting, he forced his eyes open to see he was in his room with Winter cuddled up to his shoulder. The sky was dark behind his curtains, or at least there was no light coming through, and he racked his brains to figure out why every inch of his body hurt so badly and how the hell he’d gotten here.

When he remembered the epic beating he’d received in the alley outside S.H.I.E.L.D., he tried to sit up only to discover that his back really wasn’t ready for that yet. Every muscle lit up with pain, compelling him to drop back down onto his pillow with a whine. It was nothing like when he’d broken his back and had to stay in bed until he didn’t feel like death warmed over anymore, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either.

Bucky took a deep breath, coughing as it put strain on his lungs, and called weakly, “Steve?”

There was an immediate scuffle from the direction of the living room, and then Steve appeared in his doorway a moment later with a weary yet relieved expression. “You’re up.”

“Uh…kinda.” He at least managed to shift his weight as Steve came to perch on the edge of his mattress even if he couldn’t sit up yet.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like a truck ran me over then backed up. Repeatedly. How did I get here?”

“Wanda,” muttered Steve distractedly, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen off the nightstand that Bucky hadn’t noticed to read the label. “She was here for the last few hours, but I sent her home to get some rest a little while ago.”

Bucky cringed. “Did, uh… Did she—“

“She said she was leaving late and found four guys wailing on you in the alley.” That was Steve’s _I May Just Kill Someone_ voice, which Bucky was positive he’d learned from Nat.

Eyes widening, Bucky groaned, “Please tell me she didn’t try to do anything…”

Steve’s eyebrows flew up almost to his hairline in disbelief. “Of course she fucking did something! And don’t even,” he cut Bucky off when he opened his mouth to argue. “I told you _how many times_ not to fight my battles for me and you never listened. Consider this a taste of your own medicine.”

“That was different,” argued Bucky. Steve dropped a pill in his hand and conjured a glass of water, effectively silencing his protests until he downed it. They didn’t have any pain potions on hand, but this would be just as good. “You _needed_ help.”

“So you’re saying you were totally capable of taking on four guys at once alone in an alley while you were unconscious.”

It was almost insulting how flat his tone was as he essentially tore Bucky’s arguments to shreds and fed them to him on a silver platter.

“Okay, I see your point.”

“Good, because the last thing you’re going to do is give her shit over it,” ordered Steve in his _Auror Voice_. “It was bad enough that she almost took you to the hospital. You’re lucky she called me first—I told her there was no way you’d go for it and to bring you here instead.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Bucky thanked him quietly. As always, Steve had read his mind before they’d even spoken: going to the hospital for what had, for all intents and purposes, been a _Muggle_ attack on him was only going to play into Pierce’s hands. The fact that Wanda was the only person who’d seen was going to work in his favor no matter how shitty he felt—there would be no one to corroborate that any of this happened. However, given that his face felt like tenderized beef, he assumed that was going to be an entirely different issue when someone caught sight of him.

“How bad is it?” he inquired, tentatively poking at the skin on the right side of his face with a wince as pain shot right down to his neck. Winter tried to soothe the sting again, but he gently guided her away so she could burrow under his arm instead. If it looked as bad as it felt, he might have to stay in the house for a few days.

“Uh…” Steve shrugged, a tiny smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. “Well, you’re not gonna want to do any photo shoots for the _Prophet_ anytime soon.”

“Wonderful,” groaned Bucky dejectedly.

“Which is probably something we should talk about.”

Grimacing in a way that had nothing to do with his aches, which were already beginning to subside thanks to the painkillers, Bucky shot Steve a sidelong glance and simply waited. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this if the _Steve Rogers Is on a Mission_ glare he was getting was anything to go by.

“I know you’re still pissed about those kids, and you have every right to be,” he began in a stern tone he only used at work or on the various bullies he’d encountered over the years. “You’re right to fight for their records and make sure they’re okay.”

“But.” _It’s gonna be there somewhere._

Steve sighed. “ _But_ you need to keep a low profile from now on.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to gaze at Steve like he was potentially losing his mind while doing a jig in nothing but his underwear. “Low profile?” he breathed, his mind automatically reaching back for the memory of when his mother had used those same words in relation to the humiliating article the _Daily Prophet_ had printed about him. It was about as fair this time, too. “ _You_ , Steve _Don’t-Fucking-Tell-Me-to-Lay-Low_ Rogers, are telling _me_ to keep _my_ nose out of things?”

“That’s not what I sai—“

“That’s _exactly_ what you said!”

“ _We already lost you once_!” The vehemence of his statement shocked Bucky into silence. Steve didn’t let that stop or soften him, though. “I’ve lost count of how many times people have tried to kill you. We already thought they _had_ once. Now you give an interview and all of a sudden you’re getting beaten up by four guys who probably would have killed you if Wanda hadn’t been there to save your ass. I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to do what’s right, but _please_ don’t make us go through that again. You can do more alive than dead, and if that means playing it safe, then _that’s_ what you need to do.”

Steve paused to huff out a humorless chuckle. “I know I’m the first person to ignore stuff like that. I can’t just _not do something_ when I know it’s my responsibility to help, or even when it isn’t. So I know it’s pretty shitty that I’m telling you to do this. But you’ve got so many other ways you can fight this crap, Buck. I know you still remember shit your mom used to pull to get her way. You’re just as smart—you can do this without putting yourself in harm’s way. You know how to play politics, so do it. Beat Pierce at his own game, but be smart about it. Because maybe it’s selfish, but I already went to your first funeral and I really don’t think any of us could handle having to go to another.”

By the time he was finished, Steve’s voice had lost most of its scolding and just sounded sad. It made guilt flare up in Bucky’s chest, and he tried to swallow around the lump that appeared in his throat.

Steve Rogers was someone who would throw himself into the line of fire at the slightest provocation if he was doing something he felt was right. He paid no attention to his own physical wellbeing, especially now that he was a rather sizable force to be reckoned with. It was something that drove Peggy up the wall: she tended to take calculated risks and think before diving into a situation head-first, as was befitting the Slytherin she’d always been. That wasn’t Steve, though. If there was an injustice, he was the first to respond. Perhaps that made him the most qualified to understand the risks when someone else tried to do the same thing. Steve _was_ right about one thing: it wasn’t fair to make them live through Bucky’s death a second time when the first, he’d long since found out, had utterly wrecked each and every one of his friends.

And wasn’t this exactly what his dad’s problem had been all those years ago? Hadn’t they spoken of the same thing in the antechamber of the Minister’s office? He’d asked if his father thought this was worth the fight, and his dad had looked him in the eye and said _no_. His family came first. Bucky’s mom could do her work just as well in hiding as she could out in the open where everyone could see and paint a target on her back as a result.

 _Dad would totally be on Steve’s side,_ it suddenly dawned on him. He knew without a doubt that if he could talk to his dad just one more time, his father would tell him that what was best for the world could sometimes take a backseat to what was best for his family. And yeah, maybe his blood family was dead, but Bucky would be lying if he said that he didn’t still have one. Steve and Sarah—Tatiana and Mikhail—Sam, Clint, and T’Challa—Nat, Jarvis, Skye, and the twins—they were all his family.

Those kids needed him. That was his job. That was what he’d dedicated his life to doing with S.H.I.E.L.D. when he was sixteen years old.

But they weren’t the only ones who needed him to be smart about this, even if it _was_ a little (or really a _lot_ ) hypocritical of Steve to make such a request given his lackadaisical approach to his own safety. They would have to work on that.

“Okay,” he eventually whispered, glancing over to see Steve breathing a sigh of relief. “But you’ve gotta promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek before he insisted, “You can’t do anything stupid either. If I’ve gotta lay low and play the political game—which you _know_ I hate—then you’ve got to stop jumping into everything the way you do.”

Smirking, Steve gently smacked perhaps the only spot on his arm that _wasn’t_ sore. “How can I do anything stupid? You usually take all of that with you.”

It didn’t matter how much his hands protested: flipping Steve off with both barrels was _worth it_.

 

***

 

Bucky spent the rest of the week working from home. Unlike most magically-operated businesses, S.H.I.E.L.D. was outfitted with the best that Muggle technology had to offer, so it was as easy as getting on his laptop. He’d wanted to work in his office, indicating that he wouldn’t really be outside and didn’t have to be around the kids, but Steve _and_ Nat were adamant that he stay home. If they were right and Bucky’s interview was somehow tied to getting the crap kicked out of him, it would only be a matter of time before someone sent an inconvenient picture to the _Prophet_ —where they would either spread the news that those darn Muggles were at it again or vilify him for getting into some kind of violent altercation. He doubted it would be the latter what with the relatively positive public reaction he’d been getting since the truth had come out that he was alive, but it wasn’t something he was willing to risk discovering he was wrong about.

So Bucky stayed home like a good little boy, Steve and Nat checking in periodically to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid, and played the role of _Responsible Adult_ by doing what he was supposed to for work and nothing else. It was boring, and he felt like he wasn’t doing nearly enough to get things done. Steve had, of course, gutted that assumption by mentioning that Pierce still hadn’t managed to make a comment about the allegations being hurled around by the _Prophet_. In fact, the Minister had been oddly silent in the face of everything, and there was a new article every day (albeit buried in the middle of the paper where only the most diehard subscribers were still reading) calling for answers. Most of the upheaval had subsided, but at least the world wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon. That had to count for something.

Now all he had to do was figure out where the kids were and find a way around Pierce’s fun new rule just in case this happened again in the future, and he’d be golden.

Unfortunately, the former had to be put on the back burner until he determined how the fuck he would manage to pull that off. He knew it was all a matter of finding a way past the wall that had been built between him and pretty much anyone with power in the Ministry, but how to _do_ it was going to be an interesting conundrum to solve. Contrary to what Steve appeared to believe, it wasn’t nearly as easy for him to _play_ his mom’s political games as it was for him to merely _understand_ them. That shit didn’t come naturally to him; he was far more like his father in that regard. Doing what was morally right? Yes. That was probably what got him into trouble in that alley, but hey, shit happened. Navigating the dark depths of whatever cave most politicians crawled out of to win buried treasure? Yeah, that was going to take some time.

When she’d visited the day after he’d been beaten up, Nat had firmly reminded him that they weren’t on a strict schedule. The kids, as far as they knew, weren’t in immediate danger. They were under the custody of the Ministry and, thanks to Bucky’s interview, the whole Wizarding world would be watching just in case something happened to them. That would work in their favor for now, so it gave them a bit of a break while Bucky considered his next move.

So, he spent the rest of the week ordering the new software for Thor’s mythology classes and talking to Tony about the technology they wanted to implement at S.H.I.E.L.D. If it weren’t for how tender his face still was and the fact that he couldn’t even _glance_ into a mirror, Bucky would have thought none of the last few weeks had happened as he carried on. _Business as usual._

Then, Friday morning, there was a knock on the door to herald Sarah Rogers’s arrival since apparently Steve had finally gotten around to telling her what had happened at a time when he conveniently wouldn’t be around to witness the fallout.

“James Buchanan Barnes, look at your _face_!” she exclaimed before he’d gotten a word out. She hustled him back into the apartment and onto the couch immediately, locking the door behind her.

“Hi, Sarah,” sighed Bucky, lowering himself onto the sofa with a grimace. There was still bruising in places he didn’t like talking about in front of company. It was worthless to hide his discomfort, though: Sarah was a nurse and practically his second mother, so she was on him right away.

“Don’t you ‘hi, Sarah,’ me,” she grumbled, sounding exactly the same when he was twenty as she had when he was eight. Huffing, she plopped down beside him and pulled her impressively comprehensive first aid kit out of thin air. As soon as it was open on the table, she turned his head to face her and tutted. “You should have called me as soon as it happened. You _know_ I have salves for this.”

Shrugging bashfully, Bucky lied, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

What he really meant was, _I didn’t want to worry you_ , especially after his conversation-slash-argument with Steve—not that he was going to say that out loud. It didn’t much matter, however, because it appeared that Sarah had already read his mind.

“I’d much rather know when one of my boys is getting the shit beat out of him than sit at home thinking you’re all right, James Barnes,” she rebuked him as she dabbed a sweet-smelling salve on the bruise under his right eye, which had just begun to turn an ugly green-yellow color that morning. “Steve said there were _four_ of them?”

“Yeah…”

“Why didn’t you Apparate out of there?”

That was something he’d asked himself too many times to count over the last few days. Since she would undoubtedly sniff out a lie in record time, he decided to come clean and murmured, “I was worried they’d grab on and I’d get Splinched again.”

Sarah winced at the memory, falling silent as she continued to treat the wounds on his face. Neither of them spoke again until Sarah finished and asked if there was anywhere else that needed the salve. As soon as she lifted his shirt to examine the huge black and purple bruise that spanned from the middle of his rib cage down to his hip on his right side, she hissed through her teeth.

“It’s a wonder you didn’t break anything,” she admitted quietly, leaning forward to get a closer look. When he flinched away from her fingers as they pressed painfully against his side, she sat back up and shook her head. “You should’ve gone to the hospital just to be safe. You _could_ have broken something.”

“I know.” Nat had only been saying the same thing once an hour every hour since it had happened (including via text). He was still adamant that that would be conceding a victory to Pierce, though, so fuck that.

_Speaking of…_

“Sarah, I don’t know what to do,” he sighed, running a hand wearily through his hair while she worked.

Sarah’s eyes flicked up to his with a confused frown furrowing her brows as she inquired, “About what?”

Bucky shrugged. “Everything. Steve said to play politics to figure out where those kids he found are, but…I don’t even know where to start.”

“You? The most diplomatic kid who ever walked the face of the planet?” scoffed Sarah with a wry smile. “I highly doubt that.”

“Okay, so I knew where to _start_ ,” he admitted with a smirk, “and it got me _here_. I tried to see Pierce, but he’s ignoring me. I tried going to the head of Steve’s department, but his head is shoved too far up Pierce’s ass to do the right thing. The Office for the Welfare of Magical Children is no help because he changed their rules. I went to the _Prophet_ , but now he’s not saying a word. I don’t know what else to try short of picketing outside the Ministry like a hippie.”

Grinning, Sarah remarked, “Well, before you start burning your bra, maybe think about what you _haven’t_ tried. Think about what your mom used to do when everyone spat in _her_ face—which wasn’t a smart political decision, as you and I both know.”

Bucky snorted. That was definitely the truth. Whether it was during her time as the undersecretary or the years prior, he remembered his mom coming home in towering rages talking about the morons at the Ministry and the ways she was going to show them they couldn’t be idiots without her riding their asses every step of the way. Thinking back to those rants, he tried to recall all the things she’d done; half the time, he tried not to pay attention, especially during the months when he’d hated the campaign so much that he rarely listened to a word that came out of his mother’s mouth. Now he wished he’d done the opposite.

_Karma’s a bitch._

“Uh… I mean she always gave speeches and stuff,” he observed, shrugging.

“And what did she do that for?”

“To get public opinion on her side.”

Sarah nodded. “Right. You’ve already got that, though.”

“Yeah, fat lot of good _that_ did,” grumbled Bucky, glaring down at the floor. Sarah’s finger guided his chin back up so their gazes locked, a stern gleam in her eyes.

“You blew the whistle on the shit Pierce tried to pull,” she pointed out firmly. “Yeah, he got away with it for now, but that won’t last forever. He’ll fuck up again. So what else did your mom do?”

“Can’t you just _tell me_?” he absolutely _did not_ whine.

Smirking, Sarah replied in a singsong voice, “You’ll never learn if I give you all the answers.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, knocking their shoulders together while Sarah went back to work on the modern art currently painting his chest. It was hard to stretch his mind back to the recollections of when he was young and his family was still alive on a _good_ day, but having a specific goal in mind and something he was actively looking for helped a bit. It kept his mind away from the emotional memories that still brought tears to his eyes after almost four years of his family’s absence.

Some things he could automatically cross off his mental to-do list: he didn’t work at the Ministry, so harassing colleagues about legislation or injustice wasn’t really going to be applicable in his case. He _could_ ask Steve and Peggy to talk to a few people, but he wouldn’t put their jobs on the line in the war he was personally waging against Pierce. He also didn’t have a wealth of experience _or_ the position to draw up new legislation, gain support for it, and then throw it in Pierce’s face with a flourish. Pierce, unlike Stern, probably wouldn’t give a shit about public opinion anyway and would throw it away without reading it—using a Levitation Charm, of course, because it was far too gauche to just toss a paper into a wastebasket like a _Muggle_.

Those were just the things she did out in the _open_ , though. Like any good politician, his mom had played cards close to her chest and worked behind the scenes as well.

One of his father’s favorite stories to tell him and Becca when they were little was about the time Stern was trying to put legislation in place that would extend the seven-year term of a Minister to a decade. He’d insisted that most elections were meaningless anyway because incumbents almost always won reelection, so it only made sense to allow a Minister to serve longer when they would undoubtedly do it regardless. Bucky’s mother, who hadn’t been the undersecretary at the time, had done some digging and worked with a few people she knew in various departments to pull together accurate statistics that showed he was full of shit. Not only were incumbents reelected with the same frequency as the alternative, but it was also found that Stern had conducted his own investigation into public opinion and was just concerned about how low his ratings were for the upcoming election. The _accurate_ information hadn’t been presented to him directly—he’d had to read about it on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ , care of an _anonymous_ Ministry official.

_Bingo._

“Connections,” he blurted out, feeling a grin spreading across his face. When he whipped his head around to look at Sarah, she had a small smile on her lips as if she was waiting for him to come to that conclusion. “Find the right person, and you can get all the information they _don’t_ want you to find.”

Sarah kissed his forehead before continuing to wrap a bandage around his ribs to protect the salve from smearing while Bucky realized he knew exactly who to call.

 

***

 

“Thanks for coming, Jarvis,” Bucky said in greeting, returning his friend’s one-armed hug before collapsing back into his seat on the couch.

“It’s my pleasure,” shrugged Jarvis as he settled in beside him. A moment passed before he jokingly raised an eyebrow in question. “You thought I would pass up the promise of Steve’s mother’s peanut butter cookies?”

Bucky laughed at that. Sarah’s visit the day before had been fruitful in many ways, not least of which being the fact that after she cleaned up his appearance and gave him some potions to help him heal faster, she’d left the far more medicinal Tupperware of cookies on the counter. It wasn’t easy to share the wealth, but he supposed exceptions could be made in this instance.

“Just don’t get used to it,” he huffed in mock irritation as he held out the container for Jarvis to take one of the little discs of heaven. “It’ll probably never happen again.”

“It would be remiss of me not to point out that I’m surprised it’s happening at all.”

“You’re a smart man, Jarvis.”

“Thank you, I’ve been told that many times.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky let Jarvis get a few bites in as he tried to figure out how he was going to approach this subject. What he had planned wouldn’t exactly get Jarvis _fired_ , but it wouldn’t put him in the safe zone either. It didn’t help that they hardly saw each other anymore as it was and now, the first time they’d done more than exchange a few text messages in a couple of months, it was really only so that Bucky could ask him a favor. The last thing he wanted was to be a shitty friend, especially when Jarvis was really part of his chosen family now, but there were things that had to be done.

 _That’s_ if _he says yes,_ he reminded himself apprehensively. It went without saying that Jarvis could very well refuse his proposal and walk out the door. Bucky would understand if he did—this wasn’t a little thing he was requesting—but he couldn’t deny that he would be disappointed.

 _I really_ am _a shit friend._

“You have that look on your face again.”

Bucky snapped out of his rapidly devolving thoughts and glanced over to see Jarvis watching him calmly. “What look?”

Smiling, Jarvis described, “The one that says you have something you want to discuss but you believe I will think worse of you if you do.”

 _Great, he’s acting like Steve now._ “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to those who know you well,” Jarvis reassured him. “I would be willing not to judge you for it in exchange for another of Sarah’s delicious cookies.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes and retorted, “You drive a hard bargain, Jarvis.” Then he handed him the entire container just to be safe. Jarvis wouldn’t eat the whole thing anyway.

_Would he?_

“So, what is it that’s on your mind?” inquired Jarvis once he’d downed another cookie and set the Tupperware on the coffee table to give Bucky his undivided attention.

Opening his mouth a few times, Bucky attempted to think of how he was going to broach the subject. Did he just come right out and say it? Did he try to explain what had been happening even though Jarvis was an avid _Prophet_ reader and undoubtedly already knew the sordid details? Did he sugarcoat it and figure out what Jarvis’s reaction would be so that if it looked like things were going south, he could abort and take a different route?

There were too many possible ways to attack this beast, so Bucky swallowed his fear and just came right out with it: “I need you to find some information at the Ministry for me.”

For his part, Jarvis didn’t appear at all surprised. Bucky, on the other hand, couldn’t say the same when Jarvis immediately offered, “What information would you like?”

Blinking, Bucky shook his head but still wasn’t able to keep his mouth from hanging open stupidly. “You…you don’t even want to know why?”

“If you care to tell me, I’d welcome the explanation,” admitted Jarvis with a flippant shrug, “but it’s unnecessary. You wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important, and I trust your judgment.”

“You clearly weren’t paying attention for pretty much our entire school career.”

Jarvis smirked. “You had your moments, but you also always had your _reasons_. There has never been a time when I didn’t think you were doing the best you could for all of us. You operate one of the premier children’s charities known to both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. You have dedicated your life to doing what is best for others while generally running yourself into the ground in the process. Shall I continue?”

“No, I think I’ve got it,” mumbled Bucky, examining the skin on the back of his hands. There was still a cut between his second and third knuckles from where his right fist had scraped the brick wall he’d thrown one of his assailants into last week.

“There are many individuals in this world whose motives I would question,” Jarvis pressed on regardless, his tone more somber this time. “You have never been one of them. So whatever it is you need, consider me your humble servant.”

Bucky took a deep breath and looked up at him, hoping his smile looked more genuine than it felt. “Loyal friend. Never a servant.”

“You _did_ once liken me to an old English butler.”

“Lies.”

“I shall dig out the transcripts.”

Snorting, Bucky stopped beating around the bush and brought them back around to the task at hand. “I need whatever you can get about the kids from the Belgium case.”

Jarvis nodded. “I had a feeling it would have something to do with that. Has Pierce still not released information about where they were taken to S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Not a word,” confirmed Bucky darkly. “There’s a reason why he wanted to know about them and took them away when I didn’t give him anything—and I want to know what it is. I think finding out where he took those kids is going to be the first step.”

“My one concern is that I don’t have access to those sorts of records,” pointed out Jarvis with a pensive frown. “My work rarely has me cooperating with other departments, and I’ve never had reason to ask anything of the offices that _would_ have what you want to know. It might appear suspicious if I came looking for information when it isn’t a secret that we are friends.”

That, of course, had been the primary reason why they were having this conversation on Bucky and Steve’s couch on a Saturday instead of in his office at S.H.I.E.L.D. where it might be seen as official business. According to Wanda, who had been in touch with him constantly over the course of his absence to check on his health and update him as to what was happening at their headquarters, all was quiet in Crawley. It didn’t _appear_ that anyone was watching the building, but Bucky was well aware that that was no indication of anything. The last thing they needed was for Jarvis to be seen entering the building and end up on Pierce’s radar somehow.

“So, you’re saying it’s not going to work?” sighed Bucky, already preparing to consider a Plan E.

“Now, now, let’s not be so hasty,” Jarvis rebuked him with a tut of indignation. “I merely indicated that it would appear suspicious if not handled carefully.” All of a sudden, he adopted a tiny, sneaky grin the likes of which Bucky had never seen on Jarvis’s face before. “That simply means I have more of a challenge ahead of me.”

 

***

 

 _I’ve got to get Sarah something really damn nice for her birthday and Christmas this year_ , mused Bucky as he stared into the mirror above the bathroom sink. It was the fifth time today he’d thought that after noticing how the bruising on his face was all but gone, leaving Nat and Steve no reason to make him stay home again on Monday morning. It was nice to be out of the apartment when he hadn’t gone anywhere for a week to ensure he wasn’t seen, and he had Sarah and her salves to thank for that. How he had managed to live without her for almost three years of his life was a complete mystery to him, one that he was anxious never to repeat.

So far, it had been a fairly quiet first day back at S.H.I.E.L.D. The only business of note had been a new arrival this morning—a girl who was found in a cardboard box in an alley on the West End and didn’t look like she could possibly be older than seven. She’d been brought in by a nurse who was on her way to St. Mungo’s at the time, and it was lucky she had been found sooner rather than later: the kid wasn’t malnourished enough to be hospitalized, but she definitely required care in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s clinic. Bucky had spent most of the morning working with Wanda to get her put in their system while informing the unfortunately necessary parties at the Ministry of her arrival so they could commence the hunt for her parents (if she had any, which she refused to say).

He’d just resigned himself to an afternoon of paperwork when he returned to his office to find Nat waiting for him. From the shuttered expression she wore, he doubted it was something he wanted to hear.

“Can’t you bring me _good_ news?” sighed Bucky to avoid the inevitable for at least a minute or two. “A cat rescued from a tree, you winning the lottery, Peggy being the new Minister for Magic—anything?”

Smirking in spite of herself, Nat shrugged. “I report the news. If you want happy, I can recommend some Disney movies.”

“Which are notoriously _not_ happy most of the time.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Yasha.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he snorted, settling down in his desk chair to see the accursed _Daily Prophet_ already waiting for him. “All right, how bad is it this time?”

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing you’re sitting down.” Nat did likewise, and Bucky felt her eyes on his face as he scooted forward to see what the fuss was about this time.

He didn’t make it past the side-column headline: “FOUR-YEAR-OLD BELGIUM THEATRE SURVIVOR PASSES AWAY.”

Shaking his head, Bucky shoved the paper away as if it might jump up and attack him at any moment. He turned wide eyes on Nat and sputtered incoherently before he finally managed to choke out, “ _What the fuck_?!”

Nat appeared to realize that he wasn’t going to be able to stomach whatever the nauseating article reported and reached over to gently remove the newspaper from his desk. “It says she died of a heart attack,” she summarized quietly, looking Bucky straight in the eye because this was _Nat_ and she wouldn’t shy away from doing the difficult thing no matter how it hurt her or anyone else involved.

“How does a _four-year-old_ die of a heart attack?” he demanded breathlessly.

“She could have had some kind of condition we didn’t know about,” shrugged Nat, although it didn’t appear that she believed it even as the words left her mouth.

“Which one was it?”

“Lorna Dane.”

That was a sucker punch that put last week’s thugs to shame. He remembered sitting on the floor in Nat’s gymnasium introducing Lorna to Cap, her very own golden retriever therapy pet. He remembered how reluctant she’d been to get too close before acclimating to the dog’s presence and diving in for a hug. The last time he’d seen her, she was clutching Cap around his neck with her thumb in its permanent spot in her mouth. She still hadn’t spoken by that point, but she broke away just long enough to hug Bucky around his legs before Rumlow and his goon squad had swept her and the others away to God only knew where.

And now she was dead. Before she’d had a chance to live. Because of a _heart attack_.

He couldn’t believe it. He _wouldn’t_ believe it. If she’d had some kind of condition, they would have found out when they got access to her medical records. She probably would never have made it through whatever tortures she’d survived to get to S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place. Even if she _had_ , there was no excuse for why she hadn’t gotten the care she needed in the Ministry’s custody.

No excuse other than the Ministry’s incompetence or outright negligence.

It wasn’t a matter of getting Pierce to rescind his amendment now. It wasn’t a matter of playing the political game to show the world what kind of monster they’d elected to represent their interests.

A little girl was dead, and her blood was on Pierce’s hands. S.H.I.E.L.D. was responsible for seeing to it that children didn’t have to fear the adults who were charged with their care.

The first casualty had been tallied. If it was a war Pierce wanted, it was a war he’d fucking get.


	7. Players in Motion

> RAISING AWARENESS FOR CHILDHOOD HEART DISEASE – JAMES BARNES ANNOUNCES S.H.I.E.L.D. FUNDRAISER SERIES
> 
> 2 MAY 2016
> 
> _Just yesterday, one of the children rescued from the Cinema-Theatre Varia in Belgium passed away from a heart attack. The news was shocking to everyone, most especially Lorna Dane’s parents, who the Ministry was unfortunately unable to locate before she died._
> 
> _As one of the many children recovered by Aurors, Lorna was originally taken into custody by the nonprofit children’s charity organization known as S.H.I.E.L.D. for treatment following her captivity until the Ministry took over custody towards the end of April. This tragedy comes after last week’s explosive interview with James Barnes, the founder and director of S.H.I.E.L.D., where evidence came to light of potential corruption within the Ministry. Many believe that the motivations of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and particularly Minister Pierce’s role in the custody shift make the intent behind the move murky at best._
> 
> _In the wake of Lorna Dane’s passing,_ Prophet _correspondent Christine Everhart reached out to S.H.I.E.L.D. this morning for further comment. She was unable to reach Mr. Barnes, but Natasha Romanoff, the assistant director, had this to say about the situation:_
> 
> _“We had full access to her medical records and never saw anything about heart disease or preexisting conditions. As long as the Ministry was doing its due diligence regarding the care of the children, which I’m sure they’ll tell you they did, we can only assume that she was undiagnosed. It’s tragic news, and everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. is mourning her loss.”_
> 
> _When asked if she thought the Ministry actually had seen to Miss Dane’s needs as they were charged with doing, Miss Romanoff responded, “They have the resources.” Not exactly a shining approval._
> 
> _No one at the Ministry has commented in an official capacity on the situation despite repeated attempts at contact by the_ Prophet _. We expect that a statement should be coming in the next few days._
> 
> _Another statement_ was _released, however, once again by S.H.I.E.L.D. founder James Barnes. Although Mr. Barnes was unavailable for comment, he announced in a written statement to the press and on the S.H.I.E.L.D. website (available on Muggle computers) that the organization would do everything it could to ensure that this same tragedy was not repeated mere hours after our initial story on Miss Dane’s passing. Throughout the summer, S.H.I.E.L.D. will therefore be holding a series of fundraising events, the proceeds of which will be donated to research programs at St. Mungo’s for the purpose of diagnosing heart conditions and other ailments earlier so that children can receive proper treatment._
> 
> _“It is unacceptable that in this day and age, a child could die of a heart attack when there are options available that may have kept her alive,” the statement reads. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is here for all children. We appreciate your support and hope that you will come out to help us raise money for the advancement of our medical services to kids in need. Whether it’s two Knuts or a million Galleons, every little bit helps.”_
> 
> _The_ Prophet _has been given full access to each event to raise awareness for the fundraisers and will continue to provide updates as they become available._

 

***

 

> UPDATE: S.H.I.E.L.D. FUNDRAISING OPPORTUNITY
> 
> 3 MAY 2016
> 
> _In an effort to raise money for research at St. Mungo’s into childhood heart conditions and other diseases, James Barnes announced yesterday that S.H.I.E.L.D., the nonprofit children’s charity organization, would be hosting a series of fundraisers and awareness events in memory of Lorna Dane. Miss Dane, a four-year-old survivor of the Cinema-Theatre Varia experiments, passed away Sunday from a heart attack._
> 
> _Working quickly—much quicker, in fact, than the Ministry—Mr. Barnes already put together an event being held today outside the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Numerous S.H.I.E.L.D. employees, including Barnes himself, will be stationed at the entrance with child volunteers currently attending educational programs hosted by the organization selling craft hearts for two Galleons. (If you wish to have a personalized message engraved on the heart, the cost is three Galleons.) One hundred percent of the proceeds will be donated to St. Mungo’s for their research division._
> 
> Daily Prophet _correspondent Christine Everhart was on location as the organization set up shop this morning to speak with Barnes about this initiative. When asked about his feelings in the wake of Miss Dane’s untimely passing, he was somber in his response: “Lorna was so strong to survive what she did. This wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. All we can do is mourn her passing in the best way we can: by making sure that this doesn’t happen to others. S.H.I.E.L.D. will see to it that we’re part of the solution, and I will be personally assisting the family with funeral expenses.”_
> 
> _That’s right: James Barnes, son of former Undersecretary Winifred Barnes and philanthropic founder of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Foundation, is paying for one hundred percent of the funerary and burial costs for the Dane family._
> 
> _Mr. and Mrs. Dane, who were both present at the event, claimed that Barnes came to their home yesterday to express his sincerest apologies and offer the monetary assistance to help their family in this difficult time._
> 
> _“We have no words to describe how grateful we are for that,” Mrs. Lora Dane told Everhart. “We told him it wasn’t necessary and it was really too much, but he insisted. And really, what parent could deny the best for their child, in life_ or _in death?”_
> 
> _The family didn’t comment on when the funeral would be, stating that it would be a private family affair for only close relatives and, of course, the members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and S.H.I.E.L.D. who were responsible for making their daughter’s final days better than they could have hoped for._

 

***

 

> MINISTRY REPORTS TWO MORE DEATHS AMONG RESCUED BELGIUM CASE CHILDREN
> 
> 6 MAY 2016
> 
> _It was a sad day indeed when Lorna Dane, a survivor of the experiments conducted at the Cinema-Theatre Varia, passed away of a heart attack. Now, not even a week later, two more children have met the same fate._
> 
> _It was originally believed that Miss Dane must have had a prior condition that made her particularly susceptible to heart failure. Now, however, questions are beginning to arise with the passing of Harry Osborn (6) and Miles Morales (5). When the Minister’s office was contacted, the_ Prophet _was told he was unavailable for comment._
> 
> _Correspondent Christine Everhart reached out to representatives from the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children to discover what, if anything, they can say about this occurrence. One anonymous member of the department described the situation as “strange but not entirely unexpected.”_
> 
> _“These are children who were involved in experiments that we still aren’t privy to further information about,” stated the Ministry official. “There is no telling what kind of strain their bodies and organs were put under. Children are resilient, but even they have a breaking point. It is very possible that we simply reached them too late, and this is the inevitable consequence.”_
> 
> _When Everhart mentioned that the children had been with the charity organization S.H.I.E.L.D. for six weeks without health issues, however, the official indicated that they “couldn’t possibly guess how they managed to hold out so long. All we can do is keep an eye on the other children and try to avoid the same thing happening to any of them.”_
> 
> _The Ministry official was unwilling to confirm whether the children were being taken to St. Mungo’s as a precaution or where they are residing, citing current confidentiality guidelines._
> 
> _Services for Osborn and Morales will be held within the week, according to their parents, who were reached for comment in the hours following the tragedy. Both families impressed upon us their gratitude that James Barnes, founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., had contacted them to pay for the proceedings as he had also done for the Dane family._

 

***

 

> UPDATE: S.H.I.E.L.D. FUNDRAISING OPPORTUNITY
> 
> 10 MAY 2016
> 
> _With the latest revelation that the deaths of children rescued from the Cinema-Theatre Varia in Belgium are not due to heart disease as was originally assumed, it was expected that the fundraising and awareness events through the nonprofit children’s charity organization known as S.H.I.E.L.D. would come to an end. James Barnes, however, has always been one for pleasant surprises._
> 
> _The son of former Undersecretary Winifred Barnes sat down with correspondent Peter Parker at the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in Crawley, West Sussex on Monday to talk about the future of their program and how their motivations might change._
> 
> _~_
> 
> _PP: Thank you so much for sitting down with me, Bucky. I know you hate doing these things._
> 
> _JB: Yeah, it’s not really my favorite thing, but it’s got to be done, right?_
> 
> _PP: That’s true. Now just for the sake of transparency, I’ll go ahead and ask you to say on the record how we know each other._
> 
> _JB: Sure. We were in the same year at Hogwarts. You were the Gryffindor Seeker, so we played each other a few times._
> 
> _PP: I never could get the Snitch away from Barton._
> 
> _JB: Don’t feel bad, no one else could either._
> 
> _PP: [laughs] Good point. So on to business: how are you feeling about the latest news with regards to the Belgium kids?_
> 
> _JB: It’s awful. Harry and Miles were so bright and such good kids._
> 
> _PP: Their parents said you’re funding their funeral and burial arrangements, is that right?_
> 
> _JB: It is._
> 
> _PP: How come?_
> 
> _JB: I guess part of it has to do with the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t get the chance to give them everything they deserved in the time they were here. This is our way of giving back._
> 
> _PP: You say_ our _, but it’s your own personal account you’re getting the money from, right?_
> 
> _JB: Well, yeah, but I started S.H.I.E.L.D. with my own money, too. So it’s pretty much the same thing._
> 
> _PP: Makes sense. Do you think this could have been avoided if the kids had stayed at S.H.I.E.L.D. instead of going into the Ministry’s custody?_
> 
> _JB: [pauses] It’s hard to say. You know, one of the reasons I wanted to make S.H.I.E.L.D. work this way was because the facilities that governments have for kids without homes or who are in some kind of distress—whether it’s the Ministry or not—usually aren’t great. They’re overcrowded, they’re not very hygienic, and they’re not staffed with enough people to really meet the kids’ needs. That’s what we’re here for. The Ministry didn’t tell me where they sent the kids, so I can’t say for sure whether they would have been better off here._
> 
> _PP: But it’s possible?_
> 
> _JB: Anything’s possible._
> 
> _PP: Now, you’ve been spearheading the awareness fundraisers to provide funding to St. Mungo’s for research into heart health and other illness prevention programs._
> 
> _JB: Right._
> 
> _PP: Since it turns out that’s not what’s going on here, are you going to discontinue those events?_
> 
> _JB: [expletive removed] no. Just because it’s a different cause than before doesn’t mean it’s not just as worth it._
> 
> _PP: So are you planning to make any changes to the program?_
> 
> _JB: Definitely. We’re not helping if we’re not aiming to solve the right problems. The series of events we’re planning will continue as normal throughout the summer, but instead of all the proceeds going to St. Mungo’s, we’re going to lower that amount to fifty percent._
> 
> _PP: Half? Why so much when it doesn’t look like research is going to help?_
> 
> _JB: Because they were there for the kids who weren’t in good shape when we found them in Belgium. They can still use that money for research and to keep up their facilities so they can help kids like that—and, I guess, everyone else too._
> 
> _PP: Where will the other half go?_
> 
> _JB: We’ll be donating it to the account for children’s shelters through the Ministry._
> 
> _PP: Can you elaborate on what that is?_
> 
> _JB: Yeah. Basically there are all sorts of accounts for money the Ministry holds, just like a bunch of savings accounts. They have them for pretty much anything you can think of, and the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children has a specific account that is only accessed for maintenance on the shelters they use to house kids before they’re adopted or put in foster homes. Hopefully that will give them something to work with to fix some of the problems I talked about before._
> 
> _PP: [pauses] Okay, I have to ask: does it_ hurt _being such a superhero or does it just come naturally?_
> 
> _JB: [laughs] It’s as easy as breathing._
> 
> _PP: Well, keep at it. What’s our next event to look forward to?_
> 
> _JB: This Saturday, all the kids in our programs are going to be putting on a talent show—we’ll have singing and dancing and probably some really weird things going on, so it’ll be great._
> 
> _PP: How can the community get involved?_
> 
> _JB: Well, they can check out the information on our website and I’ll give you an ad to run in the_ Prophet _before you go, but all they have to do is show up to the Leaky Cauldron in London on Saturday at six in the evening. Cost of admission is three Galleons, all of which will get split up between St. Mungo’s and that account at the Ministry. We’ve also made a deal with the owners, so whatever you buy to eat or drink, ninety percent of the proceeds will be added to what we make in admission._
> 
> _PP: All right. We’ll get the word out there. Anything else you’d like everyone to know before we finish up?_
> 
> _JB: I guess just do what you can. These kids still need all of our help, so any little bit you can contribute will be greatly appreciated._
> 
> _~_
> 
> _For more about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s upcoming events, you can find information on page 34 or the organization’s website._

 

***

 

> MINISTER PIERCE FINALLY SPEAKS - ADDRESSES ACCUSATIONS AND CHILD WELFARE PLANS
> 
> 17 MAY 2016
> 
> _The British Wizarding community has been rife with rumor and accusations as Minister Pierce held his silence during two major events with potential political ramifications: the amending of laws that removed over sixty children from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s custody to that of the Ministry, and the death of three of those children so far. Are the two connected? Minister Pierce doesn’t believe so._
> 
> _In a speech today, the Minister finally spoke out to address the controversy that has surrounded his administration’s motives in the last two weeks. A transcript of the statement was released to the_ Prophet _and is printed below in its entirety._
> 
> _~_
> 
> _“Fellow members of our wonderful Wizarding community, it is with a heavy heart that I address you today. In the wake of such terrifying and trying events, there has been much to do and many rumors to put to rest. And make no mistake that that is exactly what has been circulating to date:_ rumors _. Now is not the time to give in to the fear that would have us thinking ill of one another. So I come before you to set the record straight not for myself, but for the unity of our community._
> 
> _“Perhaps the best place to start is with the name William Baker. Who is William Baker you ask? He is a Muggle. Not only is he a Muggle, but he is the one responsible for the kidnapping of over five dozen children and the deaths of untold numbers before them. William Baker is the man who the Ministry has been attempting to keep out of the public eye in order to avoid the panic knowing his name might cause. You see, William Baker admitted not only to taking our children for his own reasons, but also to carrying out vicious and inhumane experiments on them. His purpose? To imitate our powers or destroy them if that wasn’t possible. The only reason William Baker is currently still in custody and not facing trial is to determine who his accomplices were and how we can apprehend them in the same manner to hold them accountable for their actions._
> 
> _“This is not what you have heard in the media recently. Instead you’ve heard rumors of conspiracy theorists and terrorist organizations. Let me be clear: these are nothing more than rumors. They are nothing more than the ramblings of paranoid members of our community. And I cannot blame them for speaking in such a way and even calling my own loyalty to each and every one of you into question. Without answers, many will resort to the worst assumptions. That is a fact._
> 
> _“This, too, is a fact: Hydra had nothing to do with the torment these brave children endured. Hydra, although an organization prone to evil without regard for those they hurt, is not responsible for this. Attempting to say that they are is simply diverting the issue at hand: that a group of Muggles has declared war on our very existence._
> 
> _“Another fact is that this was the reason it was decided that the children rescued in Belgium would be safer in the Ministry’s care. An organization such as S.H.I.E.L.D. is admirable in its dedication to the wellbeing of children all over the world, whatever their situation. It is an organization that I personally hold in high regard and hope to work more closely with in the future. But it is also an organization where Muggles are allowed to roam free and socialize with our own. I’m sure their staff would agree with me when I say that that cannot be continued, not for these children who have already endured so much._
> 
> _“So I stand before you today to announce that this will not stand. Much of the time that has been spent scorning my alleged silence saw me meeting with various members of the international magical community to determine how we could best respond to the threat that now rocks our world to its core. While no solid plans are yet in place for me to give you more details, please look forward to seeing what we have in store in the coming months._
> 
> _“Whatever you choose to believe, do not be alarmed. The Ministry will ensure that those responsible for crimes against our people will be brought to justice, and our community will once again be the safe haven it has always been for each and every one of us.”_
> 
> _~_
> 
> _For more about the Minister’s prior Muggle-wizard relations policies – page 11_
> 
> _For more about the Belgium case – page 12_

 

***

 

> UPDATE: S.H.I.E.L.D. FUNDRAISING OPPORTUNITY
> 
> 20 MAY 2016
> 
> _The latest fundraising event in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s repertoire hardly needs describing. With a name like “Muggle-palooza,” it seems pretty obvious._
> 
> _“This is going to be one of the best events we’ve had yet and probably will have all summer,” claimed S.H.I.E.L.D. employee Skye Johnson. “It’s all about showing what we have in common with Muggles and how our worlds are so interconnected.”_
> 
> _“It’s a celebration of what we have in common and what brings us together,” added Natasha Romanoff, the assistant director of the organization._
> 
> _That is definitely one way to put it. This event will be happening from tonight all the way through next Saturday evening and will include everything from short plays and stories about Muggle mythology (which is usually magical reality) reenacted by children from the program, a Muggle movie night, a meet-and-greet between the parents of Muggle children in the program and members of the Wizarding community in attendance, Muggle art appreciation exhibits, and tutorials on how to use Muggle technology to make life a little easier._
> 
> _Correspondent Christine Everhart will be covering the event and has already pointed out numerous activities that will be beneficial for members of the magical community to be a part of, especially regarding technology. It has been a controversial subject in the Wizarding world for years as Muggles advance while many members of our community criticize our traditions as not changing with the times. After all, why wait for an owl to get a letter across the world when a text (via Muggle cell phone) arrives instantaneously?_
> 
> _Admission to the event is four Galleons a night with extra charges for food and drink._

 

***

 

Natasha hummed in pleasure as she reclined across the sofa, smirking down at the issue of the _Daily Prophet_ she was holding. “You know, our brave and fearless leader apparently has the lowest approval ratings of any Minister for Magic in history here recently.”

If Bucky had to liken her tone to anything, he would say she was practically _purring_.

“Well, it serves him right,” he grinned unabashedly. Winter hopped into his lap to steal his attention, and he gave her a few kisses before tossing one of her teeth-cleaning balls across the room for her to chase. “How much did you say Muggle-palooza made last weekend?”

“Over thirty _thousand_ Galleons, if I’m remembering the number correctly.”

“Ooh, say it again!” begged Peggy from across the room where she was sitting on Steve’s lap in an imitation of Winter.

“ _Thirty. Thousand. Galleons_ ,” obliged Nat.

Snorting, Steve shook his head and tightened his arms around Peggy’s waist. “Guess nobody’s really buying into Pierce’s bullshit.”

“That or they were hoping to see us crash and burn,” pointed out Bucky with a shrug.

“Then they were sorely mistaken,” huffed Peggy with a grin. “It was an unmitigated success, Bucky. You should be so proud.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair as his face warmed up, his friends laughing at his embarrassment. It didn’t feel like he’d done all that much, not when so many people had contributed to make everything pan out the way he’d been hoping. He wasn’t about to say that out loud, though; he knew that they would all contradict him and probably point to a bunch of shit he’d done that proved he was more responsible than he felt.

Ultimately, the success of their fundraising ventures over the last couple of weeks were a twofold victory: yes, they’d raised money for the causes they cared about and hopefully ensured that the kids who were still alive would be treated appropriately, but it _also_ had the added benefit of showing what a total fuck Pierce and his cronies were.

There were so many ways to fight a war. His mom had proven that time and time again, so it would have been doing her memory a disservice not to follow in her footsteps once Sarah got him reflecting on just what he could do to get things done the way _he_ wanted rather than following the Minister’s stupid rules. Bucky couldn’t take him on directly or else he’d potentially be putting himself in danger and disappointing Steve (without counting the more severe consequences if he was attacked again). So he did the only other thing he could think of: he made the Ministry look bad.

A child in their care died of a supposed heart attack? Bucky raised money for research into childhood heart disease.

Two other children lost their lives due to the Ministry’s negligence? Bucky raised money to make sure they had more staff and better resources.

Pierce said Muggles were the devil incarnate and needed to be kept away from the Wizarding community? Bucky and everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. put all their time and effort into showing people that Muggles weren’t so different from themselves.

Bucky met Pierce blow for blow, and what Nat found in the _Daily Prophet_ was proof that it wasn’t a waste of time. Pierce had always managed fairly well in the ratings department, but now? Now people saw him for the fraud he really was. Bucky couldn’t wait to give him even more hell as they continued their campaign to raise money and turn the Wizarding world on its head from now through the end of August.

_Hey, we could always think of a fall program, too._

It was tempting. That would have to go on the back burner for now, though.

“Well, it’s an excellent thing that at least _this_ plan is working out,” sighed Jarvis as he returned from the bathroom. He plucked Nat’s feet off the couch and sat down, depositing them back in his lap before he continued, “It isn’t as though I’ve made much headway otherwise.”

“You’re trying, Jarvis,” Bucky consoled him in spite of his own disappointment at that turn of events as well. “That’s all we can ask for.”

Surprisingly, Jarvis rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, _you_ say that, but _I’m_ determined to find something to help the cause.”

“If everything looks clean, though…” Steve shrugged helplessly.

“That’s exactly the problem,” observed Jarvis with a frustrated frown. “It’s _too_ clean. It’s so clean that there aren’t any records of the children anywhere, unless they were added somewhere I haven’t looked yet.”

“Does that happen?” inquired Bucky. He knew there was plenty of crooked shit going on at the Ministry without having to work there, but still, that couldn’t be allowed. Could it?

“More frequently than you’d believe,” confirmed Peggy. Her expression hardened. “It’s not _supposed_ to happen and usually doesn’t unless your secretary is incompetent or you’re playing some kind of game.”

“Which has _Pierce_ written all over it.” Nat shook her head. “I’d say to look for them in the exact _opposite_ place from where you’d think of first. If you find out that he’s burying their records so people won’t start asking questions about how the kids are being cared for, that’ll probably give us enough to petition the Wizengamot to repeal his law about the custody issue.”

Bucky nodded, adding, “And hopefully get the kids back to S.H.I.E.L.D. before anyone else dies.”

 

***

 

They didn’t make it.

By the following Friday, four more kids had died of heart failure and no one had any answers. It still worked in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s favor since everyone was raging at the Ministry over their mistreatment of the situation. Apparently Bucky telling Peter Parker that he _couldn’t_ confirm that the kids would have been better off at S.H.I.E.L.D. was tantamount to shouting _duh, of course they would_ from the rooftops for all to hear. His words were being repeated all over the place, quoted by the _Daily Prophet_ and written in letters to both the newspapers and the Ministry alike. If it didn’t make him feel like a despicable opportunist, Bucky would have said that it was helping them win the war against Pierce just as effectively as their fundraising had.

But it _was_ despicable, so he didn’t even _think_ it. Instead he contacted the parents and offered the usual: all funerary and burial arrangements paid for completely as a token of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s sympathy.

Sam was fucking _livid_. He’d spent even more time with the kids than Bucky had been able to, at least in an individual setting. While Bucky had been making the rounds to ensure that everyone was taken care of and settling in, Sam was meeting with the kids one-on-one to talk to them about the things that _really_ mattered. So when the names popped up in incontrovertible, irreversible black ink, it was just another log to the inferno of his rage.

“How the fuck could this happen?” he demanded, throwing down the latest issue of the _Prophet_ on Bucky’s desk and getting to his feet so he could pace the length of Bucky’s office. “They’re supposed to be making sure this doesn’t keep happening. They _know_ what happened to the other kids already.”

“Do they?” scoffed Bucky with a shake of his head. “I haven’t seen a word about the Ministry doing any autopsies, Sam. They don’t _want_ to know. Then when the kids die, they can blame the Muggle and just heap more charges of murder on him as if he’s not already going to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life. When he’s probably not even guilty of anything except not having magic.”

“Preach,” grunted Sam. His pacing was starting to make Bucky dizzy, but he didn’t dare to ask him to stop. If this was how he vented his frustration, it was better than destruction of property or bodily harm, so Bucky could afford to write it off. “And the parents aren’t doing anything?”

Sighing, Bucky replied carefully, “Miles Morales’s parents were the only ones to try. They wanted to get in to talk to Pierce right after it happened. Last time I talked to them, they wouldn’t say a word about it.”

“Meaning he either bought them off or threatened them to shut the hell up.”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of political bullshit.”

“I don’t know how you put up with it all those years,” admitted Sam, finally running out of steam enough to drop back into his chair. He looked like someone had poked a hole in his ass and let all the air out, leaving him a deflated mess. “It fucking sucks.”

“I know,” agreed Bucky sympathetically. “You get used to it, but it doesn’t really get any easier.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something when a knock on Bucky’s office door interrupted them. Bucky smiled apologetically and called for whoever it was to come in—

—and immediately wished he’d kept his fucking mouth shut and pretended to be out to lunch.

Nat was the first to enter with a warning glare on her face, followed immediately by Rumlow and—because Bucky’s day couldn’t _possibly_ get any better—Alexander Pierce.

Almost a month had gone by since he tried to see Pierce and, true to his slimy fashion, he was only getting back to Bucky now that he was losing the unspoken battle between them. And that _was_ the only reason he could possibly have to be here—he _had_ to know what was happening. After all, he’d been at this much longer than Bucky had regardless of how much he’d learned from his mother’s campaigns and his dad’s explanations of what bullshit was happening around them. Pierce knew that his numbers were in the toilet and that there was an election coming up.

So it was time to play nice.

“Mr. Barnes,” the Minister greeted him with a congenial smile. He stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “A pleasure as always.”

“Of course,” replied Bucky, pasting an equally sincere smile into place and standing to shake his hand. It was a more polite way to say _hello_ than _so how’s the weather in Hell today, Satan_. Not quite as realistic, but hey, beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Please, have a seat.”

Pierce glanced over at Sam as if he expected the latter to move, but Bucky waved a hand dismissively the second Sam began to shift in his seat. “You’re fine, Sam. I hope you don’t mind,” he threw out at Rumlow with a slightly less faux-enthusiastic grin. “Our lead counselor had a pretty rough day on his feet, so we were just doing business where he could take a breather.”

The second Rumlow opened his mouth to make what was probably going to be some scathing remark about what Sam’s job description entailed, Pierce chuckled and nodded. “That’s completely understandable. I’m sure all of you could use one every now and then with all the work you do here.”

Bucky just nodded once in polite acknowledgement as Pierce took the other seat before his desk and Bucky settled down in his own. It was obvious that Pierce was too smart to ask him to speak in private now that Bucky had already indicated Sam, at least, wasn’t going anywhere; Nat would probably have to be surgically removed from the spot she was standing on. Whatever Pierce was here for, Bucky wanted witnesses—and he didn’t care if Pierce knew it either.

“So, Minister,” he began when it appeared that Pierce was waiting for him to make the first move. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The grin he got in return _looked_ paternal until he scrutinized it closer to see the shark underneath.

“Let’s not beat around the bush here,” sighed Pierce with a casual one-shouldered shrug. “You’ve done very well with S.H.I.E.L.D., Mr. Barnes. I can honestly say that your family would be proud of your accomplishments, as I’m sure all your friends are.”

Bucky didn’t reply to that. It was just as likely that he’d tell this idiot not to mention his parents with his disgusting mouth as it was that he would thank him.

“I saw the news about your current earnings over the last few events, and the allocation of all those funds to excellent causes is inspirational to say the least. The fact that you haven’t kept a penny for S.H.I.E.L.D. itself?” Pierce chuckled. “It isn’t a business move I would have thought to make, but it appears to be working out just fine.”

“It was more important for us to show respect to the children and their families than to line our pockets, Minister,” explained Bucky, unable to help the chill in his tone. “We have plenty of funding from other sources to keep our facilities running.”

“As it should be,” agreed Pierce, that sharp smile returning. “And how exactly _is_ the S.H.I.E.L.D. Foundation doing financially?”

“That information won’t be available until the end of the fiscal year,” snapped Nat with all the subtlety of a steamroller.

“You can’t hazard a guess?”

Bucky couldn’t help smirking. “Here at S.H.I.E.L.D., we like to do things by the _book_ and have all the _facts_ before we run our mouths. Otherwise we wouldn’t be nearly as efficient as we need to be. Wouldn’t you agree?”

That smile was gradually diminishing every second. “Quite,” murmured Pierce thoughtfully. “An admirable business policy, to be sure.”

“Thank you.”

Pierce nodded, seeming to think about his next words before he continued, “Well, your financial situation is, of course, _your_ business. That’s not why I came here today—I’ve come to offer you a business proposition.”

_Aha, now we’re getting there._

“I didn’t think that the Ministry could operate like a business or had the authority to make propositions like that,” observed Sam in a way that would probably appear innocent to someone who didn’t know him as well as Bucky and Nat did. Based on the tiniest twitch of Nat’s lips where she was still standing in the corner of the room, Bucky figured she was well aware of it too.

“Well, perhaps that wasn’t the best phrasing,” admitted Pierce dismissively. “In any case, I thought that the Ministry and S.H.I.E.L.D. could come to an arrangement.”

“What _kind_ of arrangement?” inquired Bucky warily. _If it has anything to do with putting someone else in charge or merging with the Ministry, I’m gonna blow this fucker outta here so fast it’ll make his head spin._

Pierce inclined his head slightly, his eyes shrewd as fuck as he posed, “What would you say if I told you we could make operations at S.H.I.E.L.D. completely independent of Ministry affairs and oversight?”

Blinking, Bucky narrowed his eyes. That was what he’d wanted to begin with, but unfortunately it wasn’t how the world worked. The Ministry had to be there to do background checks and officially, _legally_ sign off on adoptions and foster family assignments. That was really the only reason S.H.I.E.L.D. had anything to do with them to begin with: their educational outreach was through Hogwarts and local Muggle schools, their medical outreach was through St. Mungo’s, and their advertising was done either through the website Skye operated and maintained herself or through the _Daily Prophet_. All of their funding came from Bucky’s Gringotts vault, Tony’s wallet, or independent donors. If it weren’t for the regrettable fact that the Ministry held the final authority on where the kids ended up, S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.

Of course, Bucky couldn’t very well tell him _we hate you and wanted to be done with you assholes from the start_ , so he would have to be more tactful.

“I was under the impression that that was impossible,” he slowly pointed out with raised eyebrows. “The Ministry is the only legal authority on the adoption and foster processes.”

Nodding, Pierce allowed, “That _has_ been the case. Those laws, of course, can be changed. That’s the beautiful thing about the Ministry as it’s currently operating: _nothing_ can’t be achieved if the parties involved are willing to work together.”

_I’ll work with your wrinkled old ass the day Hell freezes over and the demons start having snowball fights with the angels._

Bucky took a moment to maintain his stoic expression before he inquired, “If that were the case, what would be the endgame here?”

“It’s quite simple, really. All of the resources currently allocated to the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children would be given to S.H.I.E.L.D. You would have full access to records and background information regarding potential guardians for your tenants. You would be the ones screening candidates and approving adoptions and foster assignments. You would house _all_ children who would otherwise go into Ministry-funded residences until such time as they were assigned to homes.”

Bucky listened carefully, trying and failing to find a loophole or flaw in this plan. If it was on the level, this sounded like exactly what he’d hoped for when he started S.H.I.E.L.D. to begin with. It was almost too good to be true.

 _If it sounds too good to be true_ , his father’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, _it probably is._

“So let me make sure I understand all this.” Bucky frowned, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his desk. “We would have _total_ autonomy. The Ministry wouldn’t tell us where we could or couldn’t place kids. Our word would be law. We’d have all the resources you use for an entire office at the Ministry at our disposal for us to make it work.”

Holding his arms out to his sides in a generous motion, as if he were offering Bucky the world, Pierce confirmed, “That would be correct.”

Bucky glanced over at Nat to see she appeared just as skeptical as he was feeling. Sam’s eyebrows were reaching for the top of his head. _Okay, so it’s not just me._

“What’s the catch?”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Pierce as though he couldn’t possibly have heard that correctly.

“What do we have to do in return?” clarified Bucky firmly. “You wouldn’t be offering this to us without expecting something.”

Shaking his head in pity, Pierce sighed, “Is it so difficult for you to believe that I would offer this with no thought to my own administration in the face of what is best for the children of our community?”

 _That’s an easy one._ “Yes,” he answered honestly. That wiped the smile right off Pierce’s face.

“I see. You’re more pessimistic than your mother, Mr. Barnes.”

“We’re both realistic,” rebutted Bucky, not bothering to hide his disdain anymore. “You’re a politician. So was she. I know how you work and I know you don’t scratch anyone’s back without making sure they owe you a massage. So what is the catch, Minister?”

There was a long silence during which it looked like Rumlow might just punch Bucky in the face for talking to Pierce the way he had, although the latter was hardly bothered by it. His expression hadn’t altered except to turn slightly darker, the lines around his smirk more strained now than they had been when Bucky was playing ball the way he’d hoped. Bucky wasn’t a kid anymore, though, and he definitely wasn’t Yasha fucking Smirnov, who’d had to impress this prick. He’d sooner sell his soul to the devil than let Alexander Pierce manipulate him.

Once he collected his thoughts, Pierce nodded once. “Since S.H.I.E.L.D. would be taking over a Ministry office, you would have certain obligations to fulfill for public record. Most of that is already done—you already keep accurate, sealed records about the children who fall into your custody here. In addition, there would be times when you would be required to address the public and provide statements regarding the treatment of the children you care for, as the representatives of the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children do on occasion. There are also certain Ministry functions you would be required to attend now and again.”

It was very pretty—a very pretty pile of _horseshit_. Pierce wasn’t offering independence: he was offering _appropriation_ under the guise of independence.

“So essentially it’s not autonomy at all. You’d expect our support in return,” summarized Bucky, unable to hide his contempt for Pierce’s proposal.

“As I already said, Mr. Barnes: working together can bear tremendous results.”

That was _it_. That lit the fuse and burned it up until Bucky fucking _exploded_.

“What the _hell_ makes you think that I would agree to this?” he hissed, too angry to even raise his voice. “I’ve sent back every penny you’ve tried to throw at us because I _refuse_ to let people think that we’re affiliated with you. I _refuse_ to let them think that I support anything you have to say, politically or personally. And I _refuse_ to change that just to make things easier here when we’re doing just fine the way things are. How dare you walk in here and think you can _bribe_ me?”

“That’s hardly what’s happening here, Mr. Barnes. Let’s be rea—“

“I _am_ being reasonable, and don’t try to tell me I don’t know what’s going on, Minister, because I _do_. We both know what you’re trying to accomplish here, and it’s not going to work. S.H.I.E.L.D. is here to stand up to injustice, including the brand you dish out on a daily basis. That will never change no matter how many sparkling _business propositions_ and incentives you trot out in front of me.” Bucky got to his feet and glared down at Pierce. “I think our business is concluded here. Miss Romanoff will show you the way out.”

Pierce stared back at him, all traces of his prior cordiality having vanished without a trace by the time he gradually pushed himself out of his seat. “I implore you to see the folly of your actions, Mr. Barnes.”

“Right now, the only thing I’m seeing is exactly what kind of person _you_ are. And it’s just what my mother always said you were,” retorted Bucky coldly.

Nodding in acknowledgement, Pierce otherwise showed no emotion as he stepped away from the desk and strode towards the door, Rumlow following in his wake. He stopped for a parting shot, however, before he made it out into the corridor.

“I’ll be in touch, Mr. Barnes,” he called over his shoulder. “Just in case you change your mind.”

There was a brief moment when Bucky _almost_ told him where he could stick that, but he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. The adrenaline that had been building as he made his opinions known was slowly leaking out of every pore and orifice as the door closed behind his guests and left him alone with Sam in his office again. What replaced it was a roiling disquiet in the pit of his stomach.

“Please tell me I did the right thing,” he whispered. The potential ramifications of his actions and double-meaning of that _just in case_ reverberated off the walls of his skull until he thought his head might burst.

Sam was around the side of his desk in an instant to guide him back down into his seat.

“You did the right thing,” he affirmed just as softly. His hand was warm and comforting where it squeezed Bucky’s shoulder in reassurance. Smiling slightly, he remarked, “That asshole would have to give us a _way_ better deal than _that_ if he wants us to play nice.”


	8. Bait and Switch

In the six weeks between Pierce’s visit and the beginning of July, five more children from the Belgium case succumbed to heart attacks. S.H.I.E.L.D. continued holding fundraiser after fundraiser until Bucky wondered if people were getting tired of throwing their money at the cause. Fortunately, there were more philanthropists in the world than he’d previously believed, and they were rolling in money to send to St. Mungo’s and ( _un_ fortunately) the Ministry. Tragic as the circumstances surrounding recent events were, things maintained a certain status quo that surprised Bucky. And that wasn’t the only thing that didn’t quite turn out the way he’d expected.

Contrary to the fears that had plagued Bucky’s conscience ever since their meeting in his office, Pierce hadn’t gone out and done anything in retribution for Bucky’s outburst. There were no articles in the _Daily Prophet_ about him refusing an offer that would benefit the children in their care; there were no statements about his lack of patriotism. Things continued as normal with the Ministry mostly ignoring S.H.I.E.L.D. (and vice versa) unless they needed to put through an adoption application. Bucky didn’t trust it, and the suspicion was slowly driving him insane.

Which was probably how he ended up spending the Saturday before Steve’s birthday in Clint’s gym throwing punches at a bag rather than relaxing at home. Usually that was more in line with how _Steve_ preferred to let off steam: wrap his hands and beat the hell out of a punching bag until _it_ collapsed or _he_ did. (More often than not, it was the latter.) Bucky teased him mercilessly about it, remembering the days when an aggravated Steve Rogers could be found sketching rather than taking his frustrations out in a more physical pastime. Now that he’d resorted to it, though, he had to admit there was a sense of catharsis that came from physical brutishness that required little thought. He’d have to apologize to Steve for how often he made fun of his self-imposed therapy—eventually, because Steve would be insufferable about it, so Bucky wasn’t exactly rushing to text him.

Winter was watching him from a place of safety atop a stack of mats on the far side of the gym, her monkey under her paw. It was irrational, but Bucky couldn’t help clinging to her in the last few weeks as his mind tossed around the possible variations of revenge Pierce might enact on him and occasionally landed on the idea that he might go home one day to find Winter gone or worse. He luckily owned the place, so if anyone had an issue with him bringing his cat to work every day, they could file a complaint in his special folder marked _trash can_. Everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. loved Winter anyway, however, so it wasn’t like there was much of a problem. It just comforted him to have her nearby, and that was something he wasn’t about to pass up anytime soon.

The only bad thing about working with a bunch of therapists, particularly one you’d known since you were a kid, was that there was no hiding _anything_ , like your coping mechanisms.

Sam had come to him after the first couple of days, bullied him into talking on the sofa in his conference room, and listened as he divulged at least a few of his concerns. Instead of telling him nothing would happen or there would be hell to pay like Nat would, Sam listened and agreed that there _was_ reason to be worried—maybe not about Pierce having a vendetta against his cat as much as everything else, however.

“There’s no way he’s shutting this place down,” Sam had reassured him in a tone that clearly indicated he believed every word of it. “We’re a private organization that just _happens_ to work in cooperation with an office at the Ministry from time to time. He’s got no power here, no matter how much he wants to change that.”

He’d instructed Bucky to repeat that to himself like a mantra anytime he felt like he was getting overwhelmed by fears of reprisals, and it worked. Sort of. The panic had ebbed away until he could at least function, which was a far cry better than the old feeling of wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball in his bed and admit to himself that he was a failure who fucked up everything he touched. There were days when he felt that way regardless, but Sam’s advice and the knowledge that he had people in his corner who would help however they could lessened their frequency. That didn’t stop him from being on edge, though, and the bag was helping to blow off some steam.

“Dude, it’s the weekend. Go the fuck home.”

Bucky didn’t bother turning to look at Clint, who had probably been standing there way longer than he cared to admit, and kept going at the bag as he retorted, “You’re one to talk. The hell are you doing here?”

“See, unlike _some_ of us, it’s my _job_ to work out and stay in shape even on the weekends,” observed Clint, coming around him to hold the bag steady. “You, on the other hand, are a pencil pusher and should therefore be home doing whatever pencil pushers do in their spare time.”

Huffing, Bucky rolled his eyes without breaking the rhythm of his punches. “Okay, first of all: I’m not a pencil pusher. Second of all, I own the fucking building—I can come to work out anytime I want.”

“On _my_ equipment.”

“Technically, on _my_ equipment.”

“Whatever, fuck off,” grumbled Clint, grunting at a particularly hard jab. “Usually Steve’s the one trying to break his hand on this thing. You been taking pointers?”

“He’s not an idiot _all_ the time,” hedged Bucky with a shrug. That left just _most_ of the time.

Snorting, Clint merely shook his head and fell silent until Bucky was thoroughly exhausted enough for his punches to taper off. Sweat was dripping down the side of his face, and he could feel that his hair was damp when he ran a hand through it to brush some stray strands back into place. Nodding his thanks to Clint for the assist, he turned and started unwrapping his fists as he made his way over to where Winter was perched. She immediately rolled onto her back to show her belly in a demand for scratches.

“I’m so gross right now, you weirdo,” he sighed, obliging regardless once he’d wiped his hands off on his towel. Winter purred and, as soon as she was satisfied that he had been drawn in by her trap, closed all four legs around his forearm and refused to let go. “Seriously, Win? You’re too old to act like a kitten.”

Winter meowed in utter disregard for his insincere rebuke, which brought a smile to his face. He heard Clint making gagging noises behind him when he bent at the waist to peck a few kisses to her nose.

“Don’t even,” warned Bucky when he was finished showering her with attention. (He clearly wasn’t getting his arm back anytime soon.) “You know you love her.”

“From a distance,” qualified Clint, scrunching up his face when Bucky shot him a skeptical glance over his shoulder.

“I have documentation proving otherwise.”

“Go fuck yourself, Barnes.”

“Think I’ll pass.”

Since Winter was perfectly content to imitate a sloth, Bucky hopped up to sit on the mats and pulled her into his lap (which he covered with a clean towel first, because _he seriously was rank_ ). Clint followed suit, sitting beside him and watching with a disdainful expression that took way more effort than it should have as Winter bit down on his fingertip.

“So, you’ve got the Kitty Wonder here, and you’re doing your best impression of Steve on a bad day. I’m guessing we’re worried about something?” surmised Clint with raised eyebrows.

Sighing, Bucky shrugged a shoulder listlessly. His sweat was rapidly cooling into a tacky mess; he would definitely need a shower in the near future.

“It’s nothing.”

“ _Nothing_ would mean you’d take it out on video games or something, not my incredibly expensive equipment.” When Bucky opened his mouth, he amended, “ _Your_ incredibly expensive equipment, you douchebag.”

“Thank you,” Bucky snorted. Chewing his bottom lip in silence for a minute, he eventually admitted, “I’m worried about Pierce. I know Sam says not to, but…I _can’t help it_.”

Clint nodded. Politics really hadn’t ever been his thing—if anyone had perfected the art of _Newspaper Avoiding_ on an Olympic level, it was Clint Barton—but he knew enough to realize when they were up shit creek. That, in Bucky’s opinion, was sufficient for most people.

“Well,” he muttered after some obvious thought, “there’s not a whole lot you can do about that unless you take his deal.”

“You think I _should_?” scoffed Bucky incredulously. Clint grimaced.

“Hell no. I’m just saying, unless you give him what he wants, he’s going to be a pencil up your ass.”

“…I think you mean _thorn in your side_ , but we’ll go with it.”

“Don’t insult my idioms, man.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They both chuckled and descended once again into companionable silence. Winter eventually abandoned her death grip on his arm to roll back over and push her head up against his stomach— _under_ his shirt, because she really could be _such_ a weirdo when she wanted cuddles. He felt more than witnessed Clint’s gaze on the two of them as he gave in. (It was honestly pathetic how _weak_ he was when she wanted something.) Clint didn’t say anything at first, though, giving Bucky a chance to just lose himself to the company and post-workout contentment before he bumped their shoulders together.

“Don’t worry about Pierce,” he urged, confidence in his eyes. “We’ve got your back. He’ll have to go through all of us and half the Wizarding world before he can do anything to bring us down.”

Despite the fact that he hadn’t quite wanted to hear that argument, Bucky couldn’t deny that it _was_ true. While Pierce’s ratings plummeted, S.H.I.E.L.D. had ingratiated itself to everyone through their fundraising and (if Bucky was being honest) his personal contributions as the face of the company.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Bucky managed a slightly more sincere smile as he agreed, “You’re right. We’ve got this.”

_Hopefully._

 

***

 

By the time Steve’s birthday came around, it was still radio silence from Pierce’s end and Bucky’s anxiety was finally beginning to leak out enough for him to enjoy the day in Brooklyn. Now that they were older and had significantly more friends than they had when Steve was twelve, their annual fourth-of-July-slash-Steve’s-birthday party was a hell of a lot more work. Bucky and Steve Apparated to Brooklyn (Sarah couldn’t get enough of that fucking cat carrier and laughed every time she saw him with it) Sunday afternoon to help with setting up, although she shooed Steve out of the kitchen while she and Bucky handled baking the cake. Well, _she_ handled baking it. Despite his lack of artistic ability, Bucky was actually fairly good at decorating, so he took care of that part in his endeavor to _not_ burn down the house during a baking experiment gone horribly wrong. Cooking was one thing—baking was downright frightening.

On Monday, everyone arrived for a backyard barbeque and brought dozens of presents that created a stack so high Sarah had to begin putting some of them on the floor when they ran out of room on the living room coffee table. It was a full house: the three of them, Sam, Clint, T’Challa (who’d managed to make time in his busy royal schedule), Jarvis, Natasha, Skye, Wanda, Peggy, and Thor. Even Tatiana and Mikhail had come; they’d gotten to know Steve pretty well and bore the largest presents of the bunch. Tony and Pepper had to decline since they were at some sort of board meeting that couldn’t wait a day (since England didn’t exactly celebrate _America’s_ independence—for obvious reasons). Pietro couldn’t make it either, but it was the middle of the summer and he was a professional Keeper; that meant he would be too busy preparing for the Quidditch World Cup to even consider taking a day off. Everyone else they cared about was there, though, and that was enough.

Bucky had promised Steve that he would put aside S.H.I.E.L.D. and all his other concerns to just enjoy spending time with their friends outside of the professional atmosphere they usually interacted in these days. So, much as he still had the same vague sense of discomfort in the back of his mind, he shoved it all away, pasted on a smile, and figured he could fake it till he made it.

It worked a lot better than he’d anticipated.

After what was now a full day of working around the house to get everything ready, he was tired enough to be able to settle into a lawn chair and relax. Nat and Wanda had brought the equipment for volleyball, but there wasn’t a ton of room for a lot of people to play in the brownstone’s backyard, so the two of them challenged Thor and Steve while the rest sat and cheered for both sides. They couldn’t exactly cheer against Steve on his birthday, although Bucky and Sam made sure to be pretty vocal about their approval for Nat and Wanda just to tug his chain a little.

Steve and Thor lost admirably, so Sam and Clint went up to show them how it was done to a chorus of scoffs at their overconfidence. Sure enough, it took ten minutes before they realized the error of their ways and suggested maybe it would be fun to play board games or something instead.

Laughing, Bucky and Steve retreated inside to find the old stash of board games they’d played with as kids in the basement. They’d been hooked on a lot of video games growing up, but board games were great when your parents got on your case about spending too much time in front of a screen and not enough time outside. Of course, there _were_ handhelds, but that defeated the purpose. So he and Steve had spent many a day in one of their backyards playing increasingly vicious rounds of whatever they were in the mood for every summer.

The only reason any of them allowed Steve to guilt them into playing Pictionary was because it was his fucking birthday. The _only_ reason.

“Clint, what the fuck is that supposed to be?!”

Clint flipped Steve the bird and retorted, “That’s the point of the game, isn’t it? For _you_ to figure it out?”

“Yeah, but it’s also the point of the game to draw a picture that vaguely resembles something,” observed Nat with raised eyebrows. “If that’s not a bird doing… _unspeakable things_ to a cow, then I don’t know what it is.”

“How do you get a bird from this?” exclaimed Clint, glaring down at his drawing. After a moment, he squinted so his eyes were almost entirely closed and turned the picture upside down.

Snorting, Bucky inquired innocently, “I’m assuming you aren’t really sure what that is either, then?”

“Now, let us not be cruel,” chided Thor, the twinkle in his eye totally undermining his defense of his teammate. “After all, it would be unrealistic to believe that everyone could have the same artistic talent as Steve.”

“Thanks, Thor.” Clint frowned. “I think.”

It took another few minutes for everyone to concede defeat, at which point Clint indicated that his picture was _supposed_ to be a dog eating pizza.

“Well, you screwed the pooch on that one,” muttered Sam dryly, whistling through his teeth.

“So I was _half_ right.” Nat held her hands out to her sides in a _See, I’m Good_ gesture that had them all guffawing at Clint’s enraged glowering.

They continued to give him a hard time, but most of them couldn’t be considered much better. When Bucky got his hands on the paper and started drawing, he knew it wasn’t going to turn out quite like he’d hoped. Despite the steadiness of his hands when they were holding a Beater’s bat, his fingers kept shaking when he tried to draw something as simple as a straight line. The only way that would fly was if he were drawing spaghetti, which he definitely _wasn’t_. Steve kept leaning over his shoulder to snicker slightly, but even though they were teammates, it was the rule of the game that Steve wasn’t allowed to help him with guessing _or_ drawing. Otherwise it just wasn’t fair.

“I’m gonna guess Fury with a mohawk,” Skye called out, her head tilted to the side as she scrutinized his masterpiece.

“As much as I would pay big bucks to see that…” snorted Bucky, shaking his head. Clint was practically rolling on the floor in peals of laughter, and Sam kicked him none too gently in the arm to get him to chill. “Besides, Fury’s only got one eye.”

“And whatever _that_ is doesn’t?”

Bucky made the second eye more substantial with a dirty look at Skye, and Wanda immediately guessed, “It’s an alien.”

“Ha!” Bucky leapt to his feet and pointed both fingers in Skye’s face.

“Oh, get the fuck outta here,” she laughed, shoving at his chest playfully while he continued to brag at her about his artistic skills. The others groaned and chuckled at their antics in equal measure before insisting that they sit back down so they could get this shit show back on the road.

It was no surprise to anyone that Bucky and Steve won, perhaps due more to the latter than the former. But hey, he _contributed, dammit_.

When evening began to settle around them, they abandoned the game to grab burgers and hot dogs fresh off the grill where Mikhail proved his prowess in the culinary arts. Nat, being the sarcastic bitch she was, inquired how Bucky could have lived with them for three years and never learned a thing about cooking. His retaliation came swift and sure in the form of his glorious feline companion: Winter climbed on her lap mid-bite and knocked the hot dog out of her hands, which stained her _white skirt_ with ketchup.

Somehow that ended up being _Bucky’s_ fault instead of _Winter’s_ , but as his cat retreated to his own lap while avoiding any disastrous consequences, he figured he could take the fall for her. If she got a few bites of his burger as a reward, no one had to know about it.

It wasn’t even dark out before the neighbors started setting off fireworks, some low to the ground so they could only hear them while others were probably not very _legal_ and sailed over the entire block before exploding into bright colors. It was better than paying for a show, so they stayed outside for a while to watch before Sarah brought out the cake. Bucky saw her tear up a bit for the first time in recent memory as she joked that if her little boy continued to get much older, there would be more candles than cake pretty soon. While Steve made his wish and blew them out, Bucky sidled up to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pecking a kiss to her cheek. Sarah smiled tremulously and gave him a light smack on the stomach, but the squeeze he got back in return was undeniable.

It wasn’t until they’d all retired inside and Bucky had volunteered to take care of the dishes that the stress he’d felt over the last few weeks came crashing down on him again.

T’Challa and Tatiana had decided to help, waving off his protests and arguing that an assembly line would work much faster than one person doing it all so they could go watch Steve open his presents afterward. He reluctantly agreed, not denying the fact that the help would be nice, and they settled into a comfortable rhythm in silence before T’Challa cleared his throat.

“So, Sam told me the Minister is causing you trouble,” he stated casually.

Bucky took a deep breath, forcing his shoulders to ease back down where they ought to be rather than up around his ears before he replied, “You could say that.”

Tatiana, who he hadn’t told about Pierce’s proposal, demanded an explanation that had her expression turning more and more suspicious. As soon as he finished filling her in on the things that _hadn’t_ made it into the _Daily Prophet_ in the last two months, she tutted in disapproval.

“Your mother always said that man was a shark. I never liked him,” she declared vehemently. Bucky knew she had to be thinking of the time they’d all been stuffed into his office at Durmstrang together to do Yasha’s entrance interview; it hadn’t exactly been a secret among them that she’d wanted to bang her head against the wall in the face of Pierce’s arrogance just as much, if not more, than Bucky had at the time.

“You and me both,” he grumbled in agreement, dropping some forks into the dishwasher.

“You declined his offer?” inquired T’Challa, humming when Bucky answered in the affirmative. There was something in his tone that was… _off_.

“You wouldn’t have?” Bucky’s jaw dropped when T’Challa didn’t deny it outright.

Instead he thought silently for a minute, finishing the plate he was drying and placing it down on the counter. When he turned around to face Bucky, his features were schooled into something diplomatic that he’d probably learned from his recent political ventures. Bucky had known it would happen eventually; he’d just never thought it would be directed at _him_.

“You said that Jarvis is trying to find information about the children the Ministry took from S.H.I.E.L.D., correct?”

Frowning, Bucky nodded wordlessly.

“Pierce offered you an opportunity to gain access to every possible record that might say something about where they were taken,” pointed out T’Challa in an objective tone.

Tatiana appeared to catch on to his train of thought much quicker than Bucky, leaning forward on the counter with a contemplative expression. “It might also give you the chance to look into a few other things the Ministry might not be so open about lately.”

“Do you _really_ think Pierce would be that stupid?” scoffed Bucky. He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “He knows what he would be handing over if I took that deal. Would he seriously leave things there for me to find, knowing that I might use them against him somehow?”

“Right now, I think that isn’t as much of a concern to him as how terrible you are making him look recently,” countered Tatiana with a proud smile.

“The thing about what he is offering you,” observed T’Challa, “is that it wouldn’t matter if you _did_ find something. Taking his deal would show him that you could be bought, so he could silence you in another way no matter what you uncover.”

“Or at least that’s what he would be hoping for,” Bucky snorted derisively. The day he didn’t come forward with information that would destroy Pierce’s career was the day he went to live in the woods and never spoke to another human again. There was still something they weren’t taking into account, however. “Pierce wants me to rubber stamp the Ministry, though. That means I would have to tell people I’m on his side with things—it would make me look like a liar if I said they’re doing a great job and then did a one-eighty and said they suck. I’m not selling my soul for a peek at a few documents. There are other ways to get it done.”

“Who said you need to sell your soul?” Tatiana’s grin was nearly as ruthless as Pierce’s had been that day in Bucky’s office.

Quirking an eyebrow, Bucky remarked, “Did…you not hear the part where I have to become a Ministry hack to make this happen?”

Tatiana reached over to pinch his cheek, laughing when he swatted her hand away. “It’s truly adorable how you could grow up around all of these politicians and still not see what’s right in front of you.”

Bucky blinked and glanced over at T’Challa, whose smirk was just as patronizing as her tone. “Am I missing something here?”

“No one said you have to _take_ the deal,” clarified T’Challa with the utmost of dignity, as if he wasn’t currently speaking of cheating Pierce out of his win. “You go to the Ministry, you tell him you are considering his offer if he is willing to show you around and let you look at what you would be taking control of—“

“Which he’ll be dying to do for the opportunity to neutralize you as a threat to his position,” interjected Tatiana.

“—and then you simply state that you do not believe the facilities warrant the trade-off, thank him politely, and be on your way,” finished T’Challa, waving a hand carelessly to the side. “It is simple politics.”

“I…hadn’t even thought about that,” admitted Bucky, frowning down at the floor as he sifted through the possibilities in his head. There was a pretty glaring problem that popped right up: “What happens if he wants me to sign something before he’ll even let me see things?”

“Then you walk out and tell the _Daily Prophet_ he tried to bribe you,” shrugged Tatiana.

“Either way, you come out on top,” T’Challa agreed, reaching over to hang the hand towel back up on the handle of the oven. “The worst thing that can happen is that he figures out what you are planning and refuses to let you take a look until you agree to his deal, in which case you do as Tatiana says.”

“And what happens if some goons try to mug me? _Again_?” he sighed, recalling his promise to Steve and wondering just how agreeable he would be to the idea of alerting the _Prophet_ to what the Minister was up to like last time.

Tatiana blinked once. Twice. “Excuse me?” Her tone was low and dangerous, more like his mother in her worst moods than he’d ever heard Tatiana sound before, and it totally threw him off.

Until he remembered that he’d _maybe_ forgotten to tell her that he’d been attacked. And he’d _maybe_ forgotten to tell her that they thought it had something to do with his interview. …And he’d _maybe_ forgotten to let her know that he’d been in pretty bad shape and had to be rescued since his assailants didn’t appear to be hesitant about killing him.

 _Maybe_ he was now up shit creek.

“So, we should get to Steve’s presents, they’re probably wondering what’s taking so lo—“

“James Buchanan Barnes, you look me in the eye right now and tell me why you were _mugged_ and what it has to do with the Minister,” interrupted Tatiana. She didn’t raise her voice; she didn’t let him break eye contact. It was actually _frightening_ how she reminded him of his mom right now.

Clearing his throat nervously, he gave her a slightly (see: _heavily_ ) edited version of what happened in the alley next to S.H.I.E.L.D. Regrettably, Tatiana was a politician and quite capable of reading between the lines of each and every amendment. By the time he finished, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke coming out of her ears. Even T’Challa had wisely taken a step back to retreat from her ire.

Tatiana didn’t speak at first. She just stared straight at him, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly through her nose. Then she stepped closer, putting her hands on his shoulders in a firm grip.

“You go to the Ministry and you find out what this bastard is hiding,” she instructed, her calm belying the rage that was simmering beneath the surface. “And if he does not give you what you ask for, you tell me and _I_ will be the one to speak with the _Prophet_.”

“Bu—“

“No one attacks my boy and gets away with it,” she cut him off harshly. “No one.”

He should have argued. He should have pointed out that he was capable of fighting his own battles and didn’t need her to do it for him just to save him the possible ramifications, especially when the last thing he wanted was for those reprisals to fall on her instead. But all he could do was gape at her as the words _my boy_ reverberated off every surface of his brain until it finally sunk in. To her, someone had attacked him when he was as good as her own son. To her, that someone had to pay.

How had he, with all the shit in his life, gotten so fortunate to have a family like this?

Bucky blinked back the mist that was gradually covering his eyes as he nodded, reaching forward to snake his arms around her waist. Tatiana pulled him in for a hug, letting him settle his chin on her shoulder so he could whisper the words he had never told her and she could do the same:

“I love you, Tati.”

“I love you, too, dear one.”

 

***

 

“Excuse me?”

The older woman looked up from the desk in obvious irritation that Bucky had the audacity to interrupt her even though it was sort of her _job_ to assist him. He couldn’t help wondering what had happened to Gwen Stacy; the obvious flirting was a little uncomfortable, albeit flattering, but he’d take that over the glower he was currently receiving any day.

“Yes?” the receptionist barked.

 _Nice lady. I guess she suits Pierce’s personality a little better,_ he mused scornfully. He struggled not to let his thoughts show on his face, but he wasn’t sure how successful the attempt was. Probably not very based on the way the wrinkle between her eyebrows deepened even further in disdain. _Oops._

“I’m here to see the Minister,” he pushed on nonetheless.

“Do you have an appointment?” She pulled a book out from beneath a frankly obscene number of knitting magazines and began flipping through the planner to what Bucky assumed was today.

“No,” he answered. It took every ounce of willpower not to cringe when he added, “But he’ll be expecting me.”

That part fell on deaf ears, and the receptionist adopted a smug, sneering tone as she indicated, “No one sees the Minister without an appointment. I can pencil you in for next month.”

_Oh yeah, definitely Pierce’s style. I wonder if he’s got a Bitch of the Month board, too._

Bucky didn’t _mean_ to sound as argumentative as he probably did when he repeated, “As I said, he’s expecting me.”

“And as _I_ said, no one sees t—“

“Ah, Mr. Barnes!”

The witch (figuratively _and_ literally, in Bucky’s opinion) looked like she’d been forced to swallow a frog when Pierce poked his head out of his office with that irritating faux-paternal smile he had a habit of trying out for size.

“I thought I heard your voice,” he drawled, opening his office door a little wider. “He’s fine, Renata. Come on in.”

As soon as Pierce’s back was turned, Bucky took advantage of the opportunity to offer his own sneer to Renata while he strode confidently past her desk towards Pierce’s office. He didn’t think he would ever say he was _happy_ to be entering that room again, but hey, anything that put the old bitty in her place right now was just fine by him. He could burn his clothes and bathe in bleach later.

“How are you, Mr. Barnes?” inquired Pierce as he closed the door. He spoke as if the last thing he’d heard out of Bucky’s mouth _hadn’t_ been insults and accusations (all of which were one hundred percent _correct and justified_ ), and he quite calmly gestured for Bucky to have a seat in front of his desk. It was an odd mirroring of their last meeting.

“Fine, thanks,” Bucky brusquely replied, wanting to get the social niceties out of the way so they could get down to business. Pierce, however, wasn’t going to make it that easy because he was an _asshole_.

“Would you care for a drink? I’ve got water and brandy—I know it’s a bit early to be drinking,” he chuckled in not quite the self-deprecating manner he was aiming for, “but I have to admit that I indulge every now and again.”

Raising his eyebrows, Bucky avoided blowing out a breath of frustration with great difficulty. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

Pierce shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he sighed, turning to poor himself a drink. Bucky _may_ have flipped him off behind his back, but that was between him and the ridiculously ugly portrait of Pierce behind the desk.

 _Pull it together and just get through this. You can handle_ one _meeting without acting like a five-year-old about it._

It was easier said than done, but Bucky managed to straighten his posture before Pierce turned back around. “I was hoping we could discuss your proposition again.”

“Were you?” The Minister took his sweet time returning to his seat and getting comfortable. “I was under the impression that you weren’t interested.”

“I took a few things into consideration and spoke with my staff as well.” Lie. “I hate to make decisions about the future of S.H.I.E.L.D. without getting input from the people who will be affected by my choices.” Truth.

“An admirable practice,” praised Pierce with a benign smile. “And how did they feel about the idea?”

“To be honest, they shared my concerns.” Truth. “But a lot of them are interested in potentially making it work, so I thought it would be worth examining a bit further.” Lie.

The Minister spread his hands out to both sides in a magnanimous, metaphorical show of openness. “Whatever I can do to help. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

Shooting him a regretful look, Bucky shifted uncomfortably in his seat before admitting, “Actually, it wasn’t really _questions_ I came here to get answers about.”

That appeared to throw Pierce off his game a bit, his smile slipping microscopically. “Oh?”

“Well, as I’m sure you’ll understand, I was always taught to get a good look at what I was getting before I bought into something.” Truth. “So before I make agreements or promises about S.H.I.E.L.D. forming any kind of cooperative bargain with the Ministry or taking on these responsibilities, I’d like to take a look at what _exactly_ we’d be inheriting. You promised records and resources, so that’s what I came here to see. Then, if everything’s in order, we _might_ be able to come to some sort of arrangement.” Lie. “No promises, though.” Truth. _Fucking truth._

His words appeared to be going off script from what Pierce had been anticipating. The smile had completely disappeared to be replaced by a contemplative expression instead, and he was watching Bucky as if the latter were a dog that might be about to either bite or roll over for belly rubs depending on what the Minister’s answer would be. In a way, Bucky supposed that was _exactly_ what he was doing. Of course, if Pierce tried to touch him, he’d break the man’s fucking hand and every finger for good measure, but the fact remained.

For his part, Bucky attempted to exude an air of calm and neutrality for as long as he could. He was a decent actor, but Pierce was a fucking professional; it was required for every politician to be either a convincing actor (or liar, depending on who you asked) or a good bullshit artist. Bucky was pretty sure he knew which one Pierce was, although the man was pretty good at fooling people into thinking it was the alternative.

“You know, Mr. Barnes,” mused Pierce after a seemingly interminable amount of time had passed. “I can’t claim to have known your mother well. We worked together only in the most remote of manners. By the time I was in a position to do so more frequently, your family was already tucked away in Romania, separated from the rest of the world. We corresponded through owl, of course, but it wasn’t quite the same as what I had hoped for when I was first elected Minister.” He paused for a moment before chuckling. “You’ll have to pardon an old man’s rambling. What I’m trying to say is that although I didn’t know her well, I had a great deal of respect for her—for her skill, her knowledge, and her brilliant mind.”

_The verdict is in: the man is a bullshit artist. And not even a very good one._

“That being said, I clearly underestimated her all these years as I see the young man she raised sitting before me.” The Minister paused, nodding once in approval. “You’re a smart man, Mr. Barnes. I regret not giving you more credit for that. Your mother—both of your parents, I’m sure, would be proud to see all that you’ve accomplished and become.”

_It’s gotta be nauseating to spew all that sugary sweetness._

“I’m sure they would be,” agreed Bucky with surprising honesty. That was one thing he’d come to terms with over the years since their death. Sure, there were still times when he wondered if a particular decision would have been met with approval from his mom or dad, or he pondered whether something he said would have earned him a smack to the back of the head, courtesy of Becca. But there wasn’t a doubt in his mind, thanks to the people who’d known his parents even better and longer than he had, that they would have been proud of him if he had the opportunity to ask just one more time.

_And Mom would be fucking ecstatic if I took Pierce down a few pegs._

The thought had him smiling a little brighter, and it was obvious that Pierce thought it was in response to his praise, so it worked in his favor. The Minister downed the rest of his brandy in one go, set the glass on his desk, and rose to his feet in one smooth movement. “It might take a bit of time for you to go through everything you’re looking for, but I think you’ll be satisfied with what you find. How about we go take a look?”

“That would be great,” grinned Bucky, following him out of his office. They paused at Renata’s desk for Pierce to tell her to hold any visitors in his antechamber to await his return before striding back down the corridor towards the elevators.

 “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at our setup here, Mr. Barnes. And I very much look forward to a potential partnership in the future,” drawled Pierce, jabbing one of the buttons on the elevator panel and turning to smile at him kindly as they descended.


	9. Drowning

Bucky woke up to fur in his face and the apartment door slamming shut.

Jerking upright, his head swam so much that he could only groan and sink back down onto his pillow until he was a bit steadier. It didn’t help that Winter chose that moment to meow _right_ next to his ear, which sounded ten times louder and a thousand times more shrill than usual. Bucky couldn’t hold in a whimper as he put both hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the noise.

That, however, was apparently the inappropriate response and earned him a cat to the face as Winter lunged forward to attack him with cuddles—or, in cat-speak, face-sitting.

“Win, _stop_ , please?” he whined, gently pushing her off his head and cracking his eyes open. Her face was barely an inch away from his, her wide eyes observing him more carefully than she normally did. Like there was something wrong.

Bucky frowned and put a hand on her head. “What’s wrong, Win?”

There was an aborted mewl in her throat before she seemed to remember that her human wasn’t good with noises right now, and she pushed her nose into his cheek to rub it against his skin instead. It wasn’t standard cat behavior, not even for Winter, who Bucky could honestly say it would be appropriate to nickname _Snuggle Monster_. This level of clinging was usually reserved for when he was upset or not feeling well, which… Okay, so he’d been dizzy when he tried to get up, but he didn’t feel _sick_.

The next few minutes were spent cooing that everything was okay and pressing gentle kisses to her forehead until she calmed down enough to crawl up on his chest. Her eyes never once left his face, though, and he figured maybe she just needed some time. That or she was hungry, although he couldn’t figure out why that would be when he had fed her an hour ago.

_Wait…what?_

Blinking, Bucky turned his head to glance at the clock on his bedside table. How the hell had it gotten to be almost nine o’clock at night?

In fact, when had he even gotten in bed?

Bucky gradually propped himself up on his elbows, the vertigo returning just slightly as he stared around his room to see that night had indeed fallen outside his window.

_That doesn’t make any sense…_

He’d been at the Ministry. Or at least he remembered being there—he _couldn’t_ recall making it home. He must have at some point, however, and he’d apparently been tired enough to collapse on his bed still wearing the suit he’d donned for his meeting with Pierce.

For some reason, a shudder went straight from the top of his head down to his toes at the mere thought of the Minister. It probably had something to do with the fact that, despite the attempted espionage he was engaging in, Bucky still felt a bit like he was selling his soul by playing nice at all. He should have been adamant and stayed the hell away, but T’Challa and Tatiana’s point that he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to find out what was going on had been too tempting to overlook. The meeting had gone well, if he was remembering everything correctly.

But that was _all_ he had a memory of. The last thing he was consciously aware of was following Pierce past the Renata bitch and taking the elevator to…

Frowning, Bucky shook his head and then clutched his skull with a groan as the room spun around him. Maybe he _was_ sick? Could you forget things when you got sick?

_That’s a stupid question,_ he scolded himself. After all, there had been a time when they were kids— _really_ little kids—when Steve had somehow come down with scarlet fever _and_ rheumatic fever at the same time. (It had prompted Bucky’s dad to confusedly inquire, “Which century are we in again?!” because fucking _no one_ got that shit in the nineties). He’d been in and out of consciousness and delusions from how high his temperature was so frequently that when he was finally on the mend, he had no recollection of the two weeks he’d been hospitalized. To Bucky’s knowledge, he still didn’t over fifteen years later.

It wasn’t like Bucky was _that_ bad, though. He felt kind of dizzy and his stomach roiled at the mere thought of getting his ass out of bed, but it wasn’t like he was sick enough to compare with Steve at his worst.

_Probably just tired. ‘S not like I slept much last night anyway._

The thought was feeble at best, but Bucky forced himself to believe it anyway as he heard pots and pans loudly clattering against each other in the kitchen. Of course the one time Steve would take the initiative to cook would _have_ to be when Bucky could feel the sounds clanging off the inside of his skull as if he were standing in a church steeple right under the damn bell.

Bucky poked Winter until she hopped off his chest, ever so slowly maneuvering himself into a sitting position. He paused a moment to toe off his dress shoes when he felt they were still on his feet before shifting to the side and rolling off the mattress.

Even though he was moving slower than Jarvis on a broomstick, it still felt like all the blood rushed to his head. He immediately fell to the side, knocking into the wall with a pained _oomph!_

“Buck?” called Steve’s voice from the other side of his bedroom door, the cacophony in the kitchen ceasing.

“In here,” he tried to respond, finding his voice raspy and hoarse. The only times he’d sounded this bad were when he’d been crying for a while as a kid or, discomfiting as the thought was, when he’d Splinched his arm and couldn’t stop screaming at the top of his lungs. Clearing his throat didn’t help, but luckily Steve appeared to have heard him anyway and opened his door.

So it was a _little_ embarrassing to be found dressed to the nines while a wall was currently the only thing keeping him upright.

For his part, Steve didn’t laugh. That was comforting. Instead he went full on mother hen, which made him look more like Sarah than he ever had before as he darted over to Bucky’s side.

“You okay?” he inquired, slipping under Bucky’s free arm and helping him sit back down on the bed.

Swallowing, Bucky nodded only to notice Steve’s unimpressed, unconvinced expression. He shrugged bashfully and admitted in a low voice, “Don’t feel so great.”

“I kinda figured that,” mumbled Steve under his breath. He lifted a hand to lay it against Bucky’s forehead with a frown. “I don’t _think_ you have a fever, but I never can tell. Don’t know how Mom does it.”

“Have a kid,” suggested Bucky with a weak chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out fast.”

Snorting, Steve shook his head and commenced helping Bucky out of his wrinkled suit jacket. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that for now. Did you _sleep_ in this?”

“Kinda.”

“What the hell, Buck?”

It didn’t seem like he actually expected an answer to that, so Bucky didn’t bother trying to come up with one. The last thing he really wanted to do was tell Steve that he couldn’t remember what had apparently been the last few hours. If he didn’t believe Bucky was going crazy, he’d think there was something wrong, which there _wasn’t_.

Bucky kept his mouth firmly shut and accepted Steve’s assistance in removing his suit until he was down to just an undershirt and his boxers. Then, true to _Mother Henning 101_ , Steve prodded him out of the way and lifted the sheets for him to crawl under. They were still warm from his body heat where he’d lain on top of them, although Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a comfortable heat or not yet.

“You gonna tuck me in, too?” he teased, laughing hoarsely in surprise when Steve adopted his most deadpan expression and pulled the covers up to Bucky’s chin. “Thanks, Ma.”

“You’re welcome, asshole.”

Steve made to stand and probably return to whatever it was he was doing, but a sudden urge took hold of Bucky and his arm shot out of his cocoon almost of its own accord so his fingers could grasp the hem of Steve’s shirt. When Steve turned curious eyes on him, Bucky reluctantly let go and murmured, “C-could you maybe stay? For a little while?”

That made Steve’s expression soften into a little smile, although the worry was still there since Bucky didn’t exactly ask for company outright— _ever_. Steve obliged wordlessly, walking around the other side of the bed to sit with his legs folded up beside Bucky. Neither of them said anything for a long while, and exhaustion was beginning to creep back up on Bucky from his failed attempt to walk from his bed to the door of his room. Despite his heavy eyelids, he was determined to stay up; he’d clearly gotten enough sleep in the time between meeting with Pierce and now. He just needed something to talk about to keep him busy so he couldn’t concentrate on how inexplicably fatigued he was.

Fortunately for him, Steve provided the perfect distraction. _Unfortunately_ , it wasn’t exactly a happy subject.

“What’s wrong?” inquired Bucky as he surveyed Steve closely. Even though Steve seemed calmer now that Bucky wasn’t in immediate danger of becoming one with the floor, there was a tiny crease between his eyebrows that only appeared when he was angry, upset, or confused. Given the state of the pots and pans he’d heard, Bucky was assuming the former was probably closest to the mark.

Mouth twitching slightly, Steve tried to play dumb at first. “What do you mean?”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow before retorting, “You slammed the door, were making more noise in the kitchen than Clint when he stubs his toe, and look like someone just killed your cat. And given that _my_ cat is still here, that’s gotta say something. So what’s the problem?”

Steve didn’t answer at first, the aforementioned cat climbing into his lap for pets since Bucky clearly wasn’t in any shape to show much affection right now. He managed to distract himself with scratching her belly for a few minutes before sighing in frustration and glancing sidelong at Bucky.

“We got taken off the case today.”

“What case?”

“The Belgium case.”

“You _what_?!” Bucky shot upright only for Steve to firmly take his shoulders and push him right back down when he swayed where he sat. Blinking away the vertigo, Bucky fought past his sudden nausea as he demanded through clenched teeth, “What the hell do you mean, _you’re off the case_? It’s not fucking solved yet.”

“Yeah, tell that to Rollins,” groused Steve. There was fury in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, obviously reignited by Bucky’s reaction. “He walked in this morning, pulled everyone together, and said that we were going to set everything aside. He told us to pack up any documentation about it—the kids, the facility, the stuff we were able to get from the chemicals on the floor and their clothes—all of it, and bring it to his office so he could take it to storage.”

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then closed it again. The words that _wanted_ to come out weren’t going to help the situation, and the ones that _needed_ to come out just weren’t there.

Over five dozen kids. _Young_ kids. Kids who had no business being further from their families than wherever they were going to school. And Rollins was just shutting the case down.

“Did he give you a reason?” he managed to choke out once he’d cleared his throat a couple of times. Steve snorted derisively.

“Oh yeah, he gave us a reason,” he replied sarcastically. “He said it was wasting our resources. He said that we found the kids, and that’s what’s important, so the rest could wait. Apparently that Muggle who was _supposedly_ responsible gave up a bunch of accomplices and admitted to a shitload of stuff, so we’re just abandoning the case. Doesn’t matter that the whole confession is probably crap and the guy didn’t have anything to do with it. Doesn’t matter that the kids are _dying_ because _we don’t fucking know why_ —just pack up the case and move on, people.” Steve shook his head in repugnance.

Blinking, Bucky clarified, “So he’s just saying it’s closed and…that’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s such bullshit, Steve! Did you say anything?”

“Of course I did,” scoffed Steve, actually appearing to take offense to the insinuation that _he_ of all people would sit by and twiddle his thumbs when an injustice was occurring. “Most of us tried to talk some sense into the guy, but he just said that if we had any problems with it, we could take it up with the Wizengamot and find a new career while we’re at it.”

“Asshat.”

“Yeah.”

They descended into silence, not quite as peacefully as Bucky would have cared for. What the fuck were they thinking at the Ministry? They would put away a bunch of Muggles for crimes they didn’t commit—or even if they _did_ , it wasn’t like the Ministry would dig to find the real reason _why_ —and let the world believe that everything was fine and dandy. Hydra was out there. Whether they were completely behind the kidnappings and experiments didn’t matter: Harry _heard_ that phrase. It wasn’t something he’d just pick up on the street somewhere. Bucky had asked Thor about the saying the very next time they saw each other after speaking with Harry about his nightmare, but even he had never come across it—c _ut off one head, two more shall take its place._ If an expert in mythology had never heard of it, how could a six-year-old know what it meant when he was too young to have ever read about it?

_And now he’s gone, so I guess we’ll never know. Convenient how that happened._

“Anyway,” sighed Steve, jostling him out of his dark thoughts. “How was your meeting with Pierce? Did he buy into it?”

_Shit._ Leave it to Steve to move on from one subject that was already bad enough and start aiming for one that was worse. He hadn’t been incredibly enthusiastic about the plan when Bucky told him, but he’d given his seal of approval when reassured that Bucky wouldn’t be getting into anything too dangerous. It hadn’t taken a great deal of convincing; in fact, Bucky was of the mind that Steve would have done it himself if he wasn’t already working at the Ministry and one of the most suspicious people to try it. (Well, that plus the fact that he was the worst liar in the world and would have blown his cover the moment he walked in the door.)

“Uh, yeah, he bought it.” That much, at least, Bucky knew.

Steve stared at him expectantly before prompting, “ _And_? What’s the deal going to be?”

Bucky opened his mouth to spew some bullshit about not having decided yet so he could buy time to figure out what had really happened in the hours his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders, but his mouth apparently had something very different in mind.

“I took a look at their setup in the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children and the Office of Records today. There’s a lot to see, so I’m going to go back three or four days a week until I get through it all. Pierce gave me open access to everything, so I’m going to take him up on it.”

_Where…the fuck did that come from?_ He attempted to keep the confusion at his own words off his face, but he had a feeling he wasn’t doing such a great job of it as Steve frowned down at him with his own bemused expression.

“You’re going to look at _all_ of it?”

Shrugging uncomfortably, Bucky decided it was as good a story as any and didn’t feel like dealing with the fallout of correcting his words (especially since nothing came out anyway when he tried to take it back). “Yeah, I mean… As long as he’s letting me have free rein, I may as well take advantage, right?”

“I guess,” agreed Steve with slow caution. “But aren’t you a little worried that the more time you spend there, the more likely it’ll be that someone finds out you’re not _really_ thinking about taking the deal?”

“It’ll be fine,” Bucky dismissed his concerns with feigned ease. “It’s not like I plan to talk to anyone while I’m over there anyway. Just get in, look through their files, and get out. No big deal.”

Steve continued to watch him for another minute or two, that crease in his forehead never smoothing out. Winter seemed to grow tired of the lack of attention from him, so she wriggled out of his lap to climb up Bucky’s pillow and settle in for the evening. He lifted a hand to idly scratch her behind the ears until Steve sighed heavily and shook his head.

“If you’re sure you’re not going to get caught…” He didn’t bother finishing that thought, shrugging helplessly instead.

“I won’t,” promised Bucky. He mustered enough energy to summon a mostly genuine smile, albeit a small one.

Steve returned it reluctantly before his eyes hardened and he pointed out, “Just remember what I said: don’t do anything stupid without me there.”

“How can I?” Bucky echoed Steve’s previous words with a wry smirk. “You take all the stupid with you.”

It was a good thing he was sick, or Steve probably would have punched his shoulder much harder.

 

***

 

_There was a door at the end of the hall that hadn’t been there before. He squinted at it from where he’d been trying to get into his bedroom, to which the door was locked. Steve’s door was also closed, which never happened even when he was asleep, as was the one to the hall bathroom. Frowning, he let go of the knob and took a step toward the new door with a niggling sense of trepidation in the back of his mind. There was something bad there, but there was also something that_ desperately needed to get out _as well, so he took another step forward before jerking to a stop._

_When he turned around, the rest of the apartment had disappeared. Even his room was gone, and Steve’s was fading where the door stood to his left. Somehow he_ knew _that there was nowhere else to go except through that door into whatever was waiting on the other side. Every step closer felt like clawing his way up the side of a mountain; the door seemed further and further away with every step. An eternity passed in the span of a moment before he was able to get close enough to reach his hand out—_

“Where the hell have you been?”

Blinking, Bucky glanced up at his office door to see Nat framed in the light from the hall, scowling at him in a way that looked more concerned than pissed. With her, it was hard to tell sometimes.

“What do you mean?” he asked. That didn’t appear to be the right answer.

Nat huffed impatiently before entering his office properly and closing the door behind her. “I _mean_ , where the hell have you been for the last couple of weeks? You’re almost never here anymore.”

“That’s not true,” argued Bucky in as firm a tone as he could when he felt like his head was about to fall forward onto his desk. _God, I’m tired…_

“Really?” Nat raised one eyebrow at him. “You spend _one_ day a week here, and you _sometimes_ come in at the fucking crack of dawn before you go to the Ministry—like right now. What the hell, Yasha?”

Shrugging uncomfortably, Bucky observed, “You already said it. I’ve been at the Ministry.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking over the—“

“—their files and records to try to find out what happened to the kids and what Pierce might be up to,” she parroted back to him verbatim. It was probably pretty easy for her now: it was only the exact same thing he’d said every day since he met with Pierce the first time. “Yeah. You told me.”

There was an itch in the back of his throat as he sighed, “Then I don’t get what you’re asking me.”

“I’m _asking you_ why you haven’t been able to tell me anything other than that,” clarified Nat, moving toward his desk to tower over him. “I’m asking you why, after over two weeks now, you haven’t told me anything about what you’ve found or whether it’s important. All you say is that you’ve seen _the usual stuff_ , but you won’t tell me what that means. I can’t tell if you just haven’t found anything and are embarrassed by it—which you’d have no reason to be, by the way—or if you _found_ something but you don’t want to tell me.”

Bucky groaned, digging his palms into his eyes with a mixture of exasperation and exhaustion. Neither of those assumptions were the case, but he honestly _couldn’t_ tell her what was. The only thing he knew with any surety was that he went to the Ministry four times a week, sat down in a chair in the conference room they had in the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children, and looked at papers all day. That was the most he could tell her because it was all he knew. He didn’t know what it was he read or what it meant or even how or when he got home when he was finished. The only thing he could recall was that he got up in the morning, felt compelled to go back to the Ministry looking for information a tiny voice in the back of his head repeatedly told him he wasn’t going to find, and woke up at home feeling dizzy and exhausted yet absolutely positive he hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary in the files that he couldn’t remember perusing. When he tried to tell Nat how it was going, the same phrase issued from his mouth without his permission or knowledge. There was no changing it; there was no altering how he said it or adding to it. Even when he tried to tell her about the strange things going on in his head after the second or third time it had happened, the words simply weren’t there. He couldn’t even _think_ them, much less say or write them.

At first it was weird and he tried to find a way around it. Then he just felt too tired to give a shit and went with the flow. It was probably just his stupid head playing tricks on him.

“Nat, I haven’t found anything worth telling,” sighed Bucky, thinking it was probably at least half true when he wasn’t quite sure whether he really had or not.

She stared at him for a minute, her expression completely unreadable as her green eyes scrutinized everything from the bags he knew were under his eyes to the way his hands were shaking a little where they’d landed on his desk. There was nothing more impressive in between—he’d come to S.H.I.E.L.D. wearing an old pair of jeans and a shitty T-shirt that he figured he could hide under a jacket when he left for the Ministry to look at least marginally less unprofessional. He didn’t care all that much, to be honest: he still didn’t want people thinking he was doing business with Pierce, so dressing casually just made it look like he might be visiting someone who worked there rather than for professional reasons of his own.

Yes, that was how he was explaining it. No, he didn’t expect anyone else to believe it either.

When the silence passed from uncomfortable into unbearable territory, Nat leaned back a bit and quietly asserted, “I think you need to stop.”

“Stop what?” he inquired in puzzlement.

“Going to the Ministry.” When Bucky’s mouth immediately fell open to argue, she held up a hand for silence and continued, “You’re exhausted. Don’t deny it—Steve’s worried too. You’re exhausted and you still haven’t found shit. It’s not worth running yourself into the ground looking for something you may not even find.”

“B-But…but if there _is_ something there, I’ve gotta find it, Nat,” pleaded Bucky desperately, ignoring the sharp headache that was beginning to shoot through his brain towards his eyeballs. He was obviously less than subtle about rubbing at the pained area since Nat saw right through him.

“I don’t think there’s going to be anything there, Bucky,” she told him in the same calm, quiet tone. She almost never called him Bucky, preferring to use _Yasha_ as something of an affectionate moniker. The only time she reverted to using his real name was when she really, _really_ wanted to get through to him about something.

“How do you know?” he hedged. He had to shift his gaze to his desk to avoid the intensity of hers.

“If there _were_ , Pierce wouldn’t give you such open access. That or he would have someone sitting with you the whole time making sure you only saw certain files while making you _think_ that was all of them. T’Challa and Tatiana were right. It _was_ worth a try. But it’s time to stop now.”

By the time she was finished, her voice had gone from collected to beseeching, and Bucky looked up to see that her eyes were wide and worried. Of all the things in all the world he had absolutely _no_ power over, it was sticking to his guns when Nat was trying to tell him something was a bad idea. There were plenty of times when he didn’t listen to her, but when it really mattered? When it was about something important or even dangerous? He valued her opinion as his friend.

There was no arguing that she had a point, much as he disliked admitting it. And maybe if he stopped going to the Ministry, he’d stop feeling this way. If he _was_ running himself into the ground and then attaching a drill to his forehead to keep going, it was more than likely that Nat and his other friends would probably realize it long before he did.

So, heaving a sigh, he nodded and opened his mouth to say—

“I know you’re worried, but I really think this is important, Natasha. Please respect my wishes on this.”

_…What._

The desire to correct that statement, to tell her she was _right_ and he was going home for a nap was instantly wiped right out of his head. It was replaced by an itch to check his clock only to see that he was already running late for his arrival at the Ministry.

When he woke up in his bed like clockwork that night, there was a text waiting for him from Jarvis. He still hadn’t found anything of note, just that the remaining parentless children were remanded to the care of an orphanage run by a Pureblood family reputed to be one of Pierce’s supporters in the last election. Those who had families finally got to go home, which gave Bucky at least a small measure of satisfaction even if the news about the other kids punched him in the gut. There wasn’t much he could do about the situation if they were in decent hands, and if the people who were supposedly caring for them were friends with Pierce? There would be no getting them out of there unless he could find something to prove that the owners were unfit to run whatever institution they operated.

But that was a matter for tomorrow. Tonight he just wanted to get Winter her dinner and go straight back to bed. He didn’t even stop to see what was wrong with Steve’s Sneakoscope where it was intermittently whirring to life on the bookshelf in their living room.

 

***

 

_The door to his room was locked again. He tried the knob repeatedly as if sheer determination would change something, discovering each time that the door remained as tightly bolted against him as the attempt before it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as though he were being watched. His eyes were drawn down the hall to the door that wasn’t supposed to be there. This time, there was a light—it looked like it must be some sort of photographer’s dark room from the dim red light glowing underneath the door. His own room forgotten, he strode toward the door with his hand outstretched, the knob cold to the touch when his fingers closed around it._

_Despite the shiver that went up his spine, he turned the knob and took a step forward—_

“Buck, wake up.”

Whining, Bucky pulled the blanket he’d burrowed under on the couch up over his head. “G’way.”

“Seriously, get up,” ordered Steve, tugging at Bucky’s cocoon until he succeeded in pulling it down enough to see his face. Bucky grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could. Did it have to be so _bright_ in here?

“Why?” he grumbled in irritation. “’S not morning yet.”

“No,” admitted Steve, “but it’s too early to sleep.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“It’s six thirty.”

_…Okay, yeah, that’s kind of early._ “But ‘m tired, Stevie,” he whimpered, yanking weakly against Steve’s grip on his blanket. Although he couldn’t see his best friend, the latter must have decided to take pity on him, because he let go of the blanket after a few seconds of whining so Bucky could pull it all the way up to his nose and hunker down in the warmth. There was a pause where Bucky thought he’d won until Steve’s big palm came to rest gently on his forehead.

“You don’t know how to tell if I’ve got a fever,” he pointed out blearily, already half asleep again.

“That’s why I think you need to go to a Healer.”

Bucky’s eyes flew open despite how the brightness of their one tiny lamp’s lowest setting pierced his eyeballs like needles. “What? Why?”

Steve’s expression was stern as he elaborated, “You’ve been out of it for almost three weeks now, Bucky. You’re not eating half the time and all you do when you get home is sleep. I _really_ think you need to get looked at.”

“But I’m fine,” argued Bucky, cringing at Steve’s raised eyebrows. Okay, so _fine_ may have been a pretty optimistic assessment, but he wasn’t sick enough to need to go to a Healer or a doctor or anything. He didn’t even have a fever—as inept as Steve was at figuring it out, Bucky had had the sense to use a thermometer and found that he was normal. Which meant he was _fine_.

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be whining like a three-year-old,” observed Steve reasonably.

_Yeah, there is that._ “I was just kidding around,” he lied feebly, knowing from the way Steve’s eyes narrowed that he wasn’t going to believe him. “I don’t need to go to a Healer, Steve. I’m just stressed out, that’s all.”

Of course Bucky would choose the excuse that was most likely to make everything worse. “If you’re so stressed out, then why didn’t you do what Nat said and stop with the Ministry bullshit?”

“Bullshit? Is _that_ what it is now?” Bucky’s temper flared up past his exhaustion, making him lash out even though he knew he’d feel bad about it as soon as the words left his mouth. “I thought we were doing the right thing. I thought we were trying to help those kids and take Pierce down a few notches, or was that all lies?”

“Of course it wasn’t,” denied Steve immediately, holding both his hands up with his palms out in surrender. “But is it honestly worth this? I saw Jarvis’s message. The kids are taken care of for now—most of them got to go home. Nat doesn’t think you’re going to find anything that Pierce doesn’t want you to, or at least nothing about _him_. So what’s _really_ keeping you there?”

There was a moment or two when Bucky could only sputter incoherently. There were so many possible answers to that— _I don’t know, I really don’t want to, I just feel like I have to be there, it’s like a magnet’s attached to my feet, it’s like someone’s tied a rope around my neck and is just_ yanking _me back—_

“I want to see it through to the end,” was what ultimately came out, sounding mechanical and rehearsed from the lack of energy to make it more convincing. “It was hard enough to get the chance to do this. I don’t want to waste the opportunity.”

“You haven’t. But if that’s how you feel, fine,” shrugged Steve in a way that clearly said there was going to be another shoe dropping. “You have tomorrow. It’ll be Friday, so you have plenty of time to get in, take one last day to find whatever you think you’re looking for, tell Pierce there’s no deal, and get out of there. You take the weekend to feel better and then, if you’re still feeling like shit on Monday, I’m _at least_ having my mom come to have a look.”

“Not Sarah,” groaned Bucky, collapsing back down on the couch and pulling the blanket up over his face again.

Steve paid him no mind and plowed right on. “You can go to a Healer or you can see her. Either way, you’re getting checked out. I’ll fucking drag you if I have to.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a douchebag, Steve?”

“Only when I’m doing the right thing, Buck.”

Grunting, Bucky felt a weight settle on his ribs where Winter had hopped down off the back of the couch to cuddle with him and reluctantly raised his blanket just enough for her to join him underneath. Steve snorted, mumbling something about idiots and their cats as Bucky heard him get to his feet to make dinner. Bucky was already almost asleep again by the time he stopped to grumble about getting his Sneakoscope looked at when it whistled loudly for the fifth time since Bucky had gotten home.

 

***

 

_He stalked straight past his room—past Steve’s room—past the bathroom—right up to the door that felt like a part of their home now. Reaching out, he took the icy handle and turned the knob. The second the door was open, the red light was extinguished and he found himself staring into a black chasm that appeared to have no end. The prickling on the back of his neck had returned, but when he whirled around, there was nothing there._

_In his confusion, he didn’t see the black tentacle that shot out of the darkness._

_He yelped wordlessly as it wrapped around his ankle and wrenched his feet out from under him, dragging him along the floor until he was careening into the shadows._

_The rapidly fading silhouette of the door slammed shut, and all he knew was darkness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, kids--it's gonna be a bumpy ride.


	10. Follow the Money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little later in the day than usual!

Steve Rogers considered himself to be a pretty good friend. He tried to listen when someone needed his ear, and he generally tended to offer advice about getting out of a tough spot (sometimes when it wasn’t wanted or asked for, but hey, he was just trying to help). He was able to joke around with his friends; they occasionally went out for dinner or just hung around at someone’s apartment on a Saturday night. Yeah, they fought sometimes, but that was something that happened with anyone who had differing opinions on things. He and Bucky had argued for _years_ over what was worth getting into fights about, ironically enough. That was a topic of conversation they hadn’t had for a long time until just recently, only now it wasn’t _Steve’s_ fights—or even physical ones at all—that they were talking about.

Bucky had always been a great friend despite riding Steve’s ass about those altercations, though, and Steve figured he should get the same consideration for telling Bucky it wasn’t necessary to put himself at risk the way he had been just to get back at Pierce. (Since Jarvis had discovered the kids were as safe as they could be now, that was really all there was to this whole espionage game Bucky was playing.) If it made Steve a shittier friend to tell Bucky he shouldn’t continue going to the Ministry to sort through their files while the offer was on the table, he would take that and still believe that he was at least a _pretty_ good friend for it.

And he definitely _wasn’t_ the best friend someone could have. How many years had he just sat by and let things happen when maybe there had been something he could have done or contributed that would have changed how it all turned out? Those were the idle thoughts that passed through his head sometimes when he was in a nostalgic mood. Would things have been different if he and his mom hadn’t given up trying to contact Bucky and his family until they actually got through to someone? Might something have changed if he’d kept writing to Bucky, who may have gotten his letters if he was in Moscow rather than Romania? Would that have reminded Bucky that he had people who cared or made things easier when he came back to Hogwarts thinking he was all alone in the world despite all the friends constantly surrounding him? Steve knew that Bucky still felt that way sometimes; it was his mission to keep that from happening as much as possible, though, which was something a good friend did. He’d see the mood coming on and suggest they go out or do something that would take Bucky’s mind off it. If Bucky wasn’t in the right headspace to get out of their apartment, Steve would grab Winter and tag team _Operation Cheer Up Bucky_.

So yeah, he figured that as far as friends went, he was a fairly decent excuse for one. He tried as hard as he could, anyway, which was what mattered most.

That was why he spent most of his day on Friday doing recon that was undoubtedly against Ministry policy and would likely get him fired if someone (or, more specifically, _Rollins_ ) happened to find out. Not that he gave a damn about that, nor did Peggy or Jarvis when he enlisted their help. Now that they were off the Belgium case and back to routine crime fighting (as Bucky liked to call it when he wasn’t feeling like death warmed over), it gave him plenty of time to arrange their newest mission.

Admittedly, _Operation Get Bucky Out of the Fucking Ministry_ had started over a week ago.

Natasha had texted him the previous Wednesday saying only that they needed to talk. That sort of thing always made Steve nervous, although not quite for the reasons most people thought. Usually _we need to talk_ implied that you had done something wrong and were about to hear about it in excruciating detail, oftentimes followed up with some sort of long-term consequence or, in the case of a significant other, breakup. Steve had never cared much about that; if Peggy wanted to get out of their relationship, she wouldn’t beat around the bush. He had no doubt in his mind that, given the motivation, Peggy would tell him point blank what was wrong and that she didn’t want the relationship anymore. Period. End of story. That was one of the things he loved most about her: she didn’t pull punches and she tolerated no bullshit.

So Steve had agreed to meet Nat for lunch that day with only a minimal amount of trepidation over the text. After all, how else was she going to say they needed to talk about something aside from saying _we need to talk_?

The Nat he’d found at a Thai restaurant not too far from S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t the one he usually saw. She’d made it there before him and was sitting at a table in the corner of the main dining room, which was packed with people stopping for lunch in the middle of a busy workday. When she saw him, Nat didn’t smile or even smirk. It was almost as if she were staring straight through him as he took the seat across from her with a frown. Never had he seen her so subdued and anxious. It was only because he knew her well that he recognized what those things looked like on her at all, but they’d never been so prominent on her visage before.

“Something’s wrong with Bucky,” was what she’d led the conversation with, and it had devolved from there. She’d filled him in on Bucky’s poor attendance at work and his terrible demeanor and appearance when he did grace them with his presence. Apparently she’d practically begged him to stop the charade at the Ministry just that morning, which was saying something for Nat. What was _really_ surprising, however, was that Bucky _hadn’t listened_. Steve knew that Bucky valued Nat’s opinion almost higher than anyone else he knew except for Steve and his mom. There had been many occasions in the past where Steve had lent him a sympathetic ear when he ranted about something Nat had done or didn’t understand but was rebuking him for anyway, yet he always calmed down enough to see some sense in what she’d told him.

From what Nat had described, that didn’t happen. Or it _almost_ happened, but then it seemed like Bucky made a total one-eighty and said the exact opposite. He’d even called her _Natasha_ , something that was so infrequent an occurrence that Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d used her whole name.

“I don’t know what he’s getting himself into,” Nat had concluded after they finally gave their order to a server, who was quite obviously getting tired of repeatedly asking if they were ready, “but it’s not good. You’ve got to talk some sense into him, because he’s not listening to me.”

Steve had promised to do his best and gave Bucky shit about it almost every day after, but it never made a difference. Their conversation the night prior had been as close as Steve got to losing his temper when he found that every attempt to make Bucky see reason was met with resistance. That Bucky was able to argue so passionately about his activities at all was practically a miracle: he wasn’t even capable of staying awake for ten minutes in the evenings anymore, and Steve had no idea how he was functioning during his long recon sessions at the Ministry. However he was doing it, the fact of the matter was that he _wasn’t_ okay and needed to stop before he got even _more_ unwell.

Jarvis and Peggy had been of the same mind and agreed to help in whatever way they could a few days prior. They’d crafted a fairly simple plan that was harder to execute than he’d realized at the time. Steve was in charge of interventions, which he’d made good on Thursday night. Peggy, who had a few friends down in the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children, casually strolled by every now and again to visit but hadn’t seen Bucky once since she’d started making the rounds at the beginning of the week. Jarvis, who was already up to his eyeballs in research between his job and the records he’d been searching for Bucky (only to discover that there wasn’t really anything of concern to be found), had taken on a third task: hunting down where Pierce was making room for this alleged S.H.I.E.L.D. merger in the event that Bucky agreed to his proposition.

Oddly enough, _that_ was where things truly started getting weird.

“How’s everything going over here, darling?” purred Peggy, coming up behind his chair and leaning her elbow on his shoulder.

Steve opened his mouth to say everything was _boring_ because all he had to do today was file paperwork about a witch who’d been doing her best to learn necromancy (never a fun situation for anyone involved) and was brought in for questioning about the deaths of all the household pets on her block Wednesday morning. Instead, his jaw snapped closed in confusion when Peggy didn’t wait for an answer before pressing a kiss to his cheek. He couldn’t help staring incredulously up at her—that was _not_ professional, and if Peggy prided herself on one thing, it was being a professional.

Ignoring his gobsmacked expression, she ran a finger down from his shoulder to his elbow and whispered, “What do you say to an early lunch break?”

“Uh… I’d say Rollins would probably be pissed?” he slowly answered, eyebrows furrowing.

Peggy almost rolled her eyes but seemed to resist the urge at the very last moment. “I’m sure he’d understand as long as we don’t go over our time.”

This time, her tone was a little harder and Steve finally caught on to the fact that she was trying to subtly tell him they needed to go somewhere else. He decided Bucky, Sam, and Clint could never find out that he was a professional Auror who hunted dark wizards for a living but couldn’t see what was right in front of his own damn nose sometimes.

_I’m such an idiot._

Plastering a smile on his face, Steve agreed and set his paperwork aside. It would, unfortunately, still be there when he got back. Peggy shot a glance behind them as they left the department to make sure Rollins’s office was still closed up. He wasn’t one to open the blinds on his glass walls or keep his door ajar, so odds were as long as he didn’t need them for anything, they could slip away and come back before he noticed anything was amiss.

That appeared to be what Peggy was thinking, hustling him further along the corridor until they came to the women’s bathroom just past the Office of Records and shoving him roughly inside. As soon as the door closed behind them and Peggy had locked it so they weren’t interrupted, Steve rounded on her in total shock.

“What the hell are we doing in _here_?”

“It was the only place we could think of where there wasn’t much foot traffic but all of us could conceivably be in the area without appearing suspicious,” she elaborated with a dismissive wave of her hand. Steve couldn’t help frowning at her phrasing.

“All of us?”

“I must admit this idea was more uncomfortable in practice than in theory,” sighed Jarvis, stepping out of one of the stalls with a sheepish expression on his face.

Snorting, Steve hopped up onto the counter and rolled his eyes. “Well, as long as no one saw you coming in, it should be fine.”

“It will be fine either way,” corrected Peggy, moving to lean against the sink beside him.

“How d’you figure?”

“We’ll just tell them we were planning an orgy and ask if they care to join,” she shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Steve could feel his face heating up and glanced furtively at Jarvis to see that he was turning a bright shade of red as well.

_Good, at least it’s not just me._

“So,” coughed Steve after clearing his throat a few times. (Peggy appeared inordinately pleased with herself.) “How about we get to the part about _why_ we’re meeting in a bathroom?”

“Right,” agreed Peggy, nodding pointedly to Jarvis. “You said you found something in your message.”

Jarvis nodded pensively, checking the door one more time to make sure it was locked before lowering his voice to almost whisper. “You’ll recall that I assumed there would be some sort of monetary exchange for S.H.I.E.L.D. taking over the duties of the welfare office. Bucky said Pierce was promising _resources_ , so obviously it would make sense that any accounts assigned to that office would be transferred to S.H.I.E.L.D. to use in the fulfillment of their duties.”

Steve shrugged a shoulder in deferment. This wasn’t exactly his area of expertise; he wasn’t even all that good at politics and had learned very little about them in the last two years since getting hired on by the Ministry. It _was_ reasonable to believe that money would come with the territory, though, so he wasn’t about to argue—particularly not with an analyst whose literal _job_ was to figure these sorts of things out. Well, that was what he assumed anyway; none of them had any idea what Jarvis _specifically_ did in the Department of Mysteries, but it wasn’t something just anybody off the street could handle.

“I was searching through the Ministry’s funding accounts,” continued Jarvis in the same thoughtful tone, “and I couldn’t find any temporary accounts or notes for potential transfers. I had thought there would be at least a note that a certain amount of funding would have to remain in the account for transfer in the future, but it appears to be business as usual as far as that office is concerned.”

“Couldn’t they be taking funding from _other_ departments or perhaps extra funding somewhere else to account for it?” inquired Peggy with a frown.

Jarvis shook his head. “There’s nothing set aside or unaccounted for anywhere that I could see. However, there _was_ an account that I _wasn’t_ able to discern the purpose of, but I have no doubt that it is not meant for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“What kind of account was it?” asked Steve, quirking an eyebrow when Jarvis paused. “You don’t know?”

“You see, that’s where the situation gets…sticky,” he explained tentatively. “There is an extensive amount of money in that account, and it’s listed as being for _Research and Development_.”

Peggy, eyes narrowed, demanded, “For which department?”

If Steve didn’t know any better, he would think Jarvis was going to melt into a puddle on the floor under her gaze, but he managed to stand his ground as he replied, “The Department of Mysteries.”

“…Then, _shouldn’t_ you know what they’re using it for?” questioned Steve with an apologetic grimace. He didn’t mean to sound accusatory but…well, if the money was going to Jarvis’s department, then _Jarvis_ should know what they were using it for.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy as that. Jarvis shifted his weight nervously, clearly weighing his words and what he was or wasn’t allowed to say under his contract. Steve wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter and they wouldn’t tell anyway, but he knew that Jarvis wanted to follow the rules. He was one of those guys who wouldn’t fight the power unless there was some overt injustice to be dealt with. Steve wasn’t quite sure what it must be like to have that sort of dilemma—he tended to think with his heart rather than his head, regardless of how often it had gotten him in trouble over the years. It was worth it every damn time.

Peggy was apparently not feeling as patient as Steve was with Jarvis’s quandary and sighed, “Honestly, it’s not as though we’re going to walk around airing the dirty laundry of the _literal_ bowels of the Ministry whilst shouting your name.”

Jarvis’s eyebrows twitched in a _well, you have a point_ sort of way, and he blew out a long breath through his mouth. Steeling himself, he finally managed to say, “The Department of Mysteries has many secrets that even those of us who work there are not privy to. If you could see it… I suppose the best way to describe it is that there are many departments all contained within the one, and none of us work with members of the other areas. I go to where my research is centered and that’s all—they could be creating a bomb next door and I would never know until it went off.”

“Is that likely?” demanded Steve, his mind immediately flashing back to Pierce’s reassurances that he would make the Wizarding world safe against Muggles by essentially using whatever means he felt were necessary to achieve that end. That could mean any number of nasty things.

“Perhaps,” shrugged Jarvis. “Much of what I handle is based on magical occurrences—phenomena that have no known cause in either Muggle or magical circles and which require further analysis and understanding before we can judge their usefulness or potential harm to the world. I know that our team is one of the lesser funded ones, but I can’t say what they would be using this account for.”

“You said it was rather substantial,” remarked Peggy. When Jarvis nodded in confirmation, she huffed, “Well, that could mean anything.”

“Or it could mean that Pierce is playing a game with Bucky just like _he_ was trying to do,” countered Steve, glaring down at the floor for a moment until a few pieces slotted together in his mind. He could think in politics sometimes, it just took some effort. “Jarvis said there’s no extra money lying around, which means S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t get any funding to go with the other resources, but that doesn’t mean it’s all where it’s supposed to be either. Did you check the history on the welfare office account?”

Realization dawned on Jarvis’s face at the prompting and he blurted out, “They funneled the funding out!” Snapping his fingers, he glanced at them as if wondering why they weren’t sharing in his moment of genius before comprehending that they needed a little more to go on to do that. “Most of the other accounts have seen average amounts of spending over the last twelve months, but the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children has had tremendous decreases in their balances during the past four months alone. Now that you mention it, the amounts withdrawn would be close to how much was in that research account if no other funding was added from other sources.”

“Which it wouldn’t be if Pierce was trying to pull a fast one,” observed Steve firmly. “He wouldn’t want his own money tied to anything here just in case it’s not as nice as he wants people to believe.”

“Well then, what could he possibly be funneling money into that he would use the welfare funding to accomplish?” posed Peggy, moving to sit beside him on the counter. “If it was a Ministry-wide research project, you would think there would have been funds coming out of a lot of departments, not just one.”

“Wait a second, Jarvis—you said this has only been going on for the last four months?” Steve clarified, gritting his teeth when Jarvis responded in the affirmative. “That’s almost as long as it’s been since he took the kids from the Belgium case back from S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Peggy caught on to the implications quickly, her jaw dropping. “He could have hidden the withdrawals by saying they were being used to take care of the influx of children when in reality he was sending it all into this separate account.”

Nodding, Steve agreed, “Exactly. Think about it: no one would ask. No one would go looking for the money. Instead it all gets shifted into whatever he wants to do with it while everyone’s too busy feeling bad that the kids are dying. If anyone _did_ try checking to make sure they were being taken care of, Pierce could point to the fact that money was being spent and say they were doing everything they could.”

“All the while preparing for…something,” Jarvis finished lamely with a sigh. “Now if we could only figure out what _that_ is, we’d have everything to finish what we started.”

“Keep on it,” ordered Steve, sliding off the counter. According to his phone, their early lunch break was nearly over. “Find whatever you can that shows those withdrawals coinciding with any deposits to the Department of Mysteries account. Look anywhere you have to, just don’t get caught.”

“Right.” Jarvis moved toward the door before screeching to a halt and half-turning to inquire, “And what are you two going to do?”

“We’ll be watching Rollins’s every move,” Peggy responded darkly. “If anyone is in on this nonsense, it would be him. The Department of Mysteries is at the center of this and that’s where he came from. I hardly believe he’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Not a chance,” agreed Steve. He didn’t mention the fact that Rollins had always been in Rumlow’s back pocket anyway, which didn’t bode well for his innocence when he had such a close connection to the Minister right there.

They waited for Jarvis to exit first and gave it five minutes before Peggy poked her head out, motioned that the coast was clear, and they headed back to their cubicles.

“Do you think we should tell Bucky?” she whispered before they were within earshot of their colleagues.

Steve nodded solemnly. “He can’t possibly argue about telling Pierce where to stick it when we’ve got something on him. We may not know what it is yet, but I’ll bet it’s more than what he’s found.”

And if it made Steve disproportionately relieved to know that Bucky would be out of the Ministry and hopefully on the road to recovery by the end of the day, well, that could be his little secret.

 

***

 

So, apparently Rollins was the kind of person who indicated their anger in the quiet sort of way.

Steve tended to prefer people who shouted and cursed and spontaneously combusted. At least then you knew what you were dealing with and when it was over. The silent ones were always more dangerous: they were the ones who figured out the terrifyingly torturous ways to make someone pay for doing what they weren’t supposed to, and that was exactly what Rollins did to him and Peggy for taking an _early lunch_ rather than working until the right time.

Carting boxes of old records from their floor to the various other departments throughout the Ministry wasn’t exactly the _worst_ thing to happen to them, but it also wasn’t the greatest. They weren’t allowed to take their time with it either; Rollins had said to report back in one hour to receive another _assignment_ —meaning they had to figure out how to get thirty-seven boxes to fifteen different offices in each of the departments in one hour. Sure, they could use magic, but there was no way they were going to be able to carry them all at once and still leave room for anyone else in the elevators, so it would mean quite a few trips back and forth.

Peggy and Steve decided to split the task: she would take everything on the bottommost floors while Steve handled the rest. It would still take time, but at least it was better than doing it all together.

It also had the added bonus that Steve would be passing through the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children _and_ Pierce’s area before he would be heading back to Rollins for more fun. If he could get a quick moment in the right rooms, he could tell Bucky to cut his losses and get the fuck out of there early rather than waiting as long as he usually did before heading home to collapse in a heap wherever he happened to land. Steve would have just sent a text, but his phone had indicated that his message was undeliverable the first four times he’d tried.

Fate continued working against him, however. The two boxes he had for the welfare office _did_ require him to go further back than was typical on a cursory walk-by, but he didn’t see Bucky anywhere. Steve remembered him saying something about working in a conference room, yet the only one they had was wide open with the lights out, completely devoid of people or files or pretty much anything else that would prove Bucky was there right now.

Frowning, Steve blew through the next few packages until he could pick up the ones destined for Pierce’s secretary to see if maybe Bucky was already up there telling the Minister to get fucked.

“Hey, Renata,” he greeted kindly when he arrived in front of her desk. She wasn’t the warmest individual, but she was nice enough if you didn’t annoy her by asking her to do you any favors. Like, you know, doing her job or something crazy like that.

“Auror Rogers,” she responded idly, inclining her head without looking up from where she was reading one of her magazines.

He waited a second to see if he could catch her eye, but it quickly became apparent that she was planning on ignoring him until he got the picture. Clearing his throat, he attempted, “Is the Minister busy, or can I just leave these in his office so you don’t have to worry about it later?”

_That_ got her attention. There was a tiny smile on her face at the prospect of not having to deliver the parcels herself, and she waved a hand magnanimously at the Minister’s office door. “He’s at a meeting, so you can just leave them right inside for him.”

“Sounds good.” Steve shot her a blinding grin and walked through the antechamber into Pierce’s office. Maybe his meeting was with Bucky, although he wasn’t sure why it wasn’t being held _here_ instead of wherever else they would be. There was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind telling him that something was off about this, that not being able to find Bucky _or_ Pierce wasn’t a good thing, but he set his concerns aside as soon as it occurred to him. Bucky probably just went home, either of his own accord or from some bullying texts from Nat, and Pierce was the Minister—it was sort of his job to be busy doing stuff that didn’t leave him much time for sitting around in his office.

Still, if they weren’t here, it would be all right if he just took a quick peek around, right?

Steve set the boxes on one of the chairs before Pierce’s desk, briefly checked the door to make sure no one was watching, and slipped behind the desk to glance over what had been left atop the wooden surface. There was disappointingly little to see: Pierce unfortunately kept things rather clean, with nothing laying out for someone to look through. The only item of any import was a folder at the corner of the desk with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on it. Steve flipped it open curiously, skimming through the contents to see that it essentially contained the manifest of resources that would be going to S.H.I.E.L.D. if Bucky agreed to Pierce’s terms. Steve nearly scoffed at the mere notion of that ever happening, but he was brought up short when he saw a sum of money listed at the very end of the document. Memorizing the number, he resolved to speak with Jarvis later to figure out if it had any relevance.

There was nothing else of interest to be found, so Steve replaced the folder exactly as it had been before and was about to open the top drawer of Pierce’s desk when he heard someone clear their throat from the door.

Vasily Karpov, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, was watching him with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Auror Rogers,” he greeted tonelessly. “Is there something you required help with?”

“Uh, no, sir,” Steve replied immediately. It took everything he had in him not to appear as guilty as he felt for being caught snooping, although he figured Karpov hadn’t been there long enough to see him looking at the file and Steve hadn’t _technically_ gotten the drawer open yet. There was nothing he could report to Pierce except that Steve was behind his desk.

Steve made sure to change that right away.

“Then what are you doing in here?” inquired Karpov in the same disinterested manner he always had when he spoke. It was no different now than it had been when he was in his sixth year and Karpov was teaching them how to Apparate.

_At least he’s consistent._

“I was just delivering a couple of boxes for the Minister.” Steve shrugged with the best _gee whizz_ smile he could manage. “I thought maybe there was a pair of scissors somewhere to cut the tape so he wouldn’t have to later.”

Karpov looked like he _almost_ laughed at that. “The Minister would hardly stoop to such base methods as _scissors_ to open a package, Rogers. He does, after all, have full use of his magical faculties.”

“Right,” chuckled Steve, shaking his head self-deprecatingly. “Smart man.”

“Indeed.”

The moment stretched uncomfortably as Karpov stared unblinkingly into Steve’s eyes, the latter unwilling to drop his gaze and lose the impromptu staring match (slash quest for dominance) that was being waged between them.

Karpov, surprisingly, was the first to fold as he stepped out of the doorway to allow Steve to pass from the office into the antechamber. Smiling in fake gratitude, Steve moved past him and strolled casually through to the lobby, nodding once at Renata before making his way back to the elevators. He could feel Karpov’s eyes on the back of his head the whole way and, when he turned to press the button for his department, Steve waved to him in a friendly sort of way when he found that he was correct.

_Close call…but worth it,_ Steve sighed to himself as he reached the correct floor and returned to his cubicle. He barely managed to tell Peggy what happened when they met in the corridor before Rollins called him into his office for whatever other bright ideas had occurred to him in their absence.

 

***

 

_Fucking Rollins,_ grumbled Steve in silence as he Apparated outside the apartment door with a huff.

He had been forced to stay _two hours later than usual_ to record the testimony of the necromancer-wannabe _in triplicate_. Steve had absolutely no idea why the fuck what she had to say was important enough that they needed more than one copy to begin with; it had quickly become fairly obvious that it was just another scrap of revenge Rollins was able to throw on top of him for taking time away from his desk to talk to Peggy and Jarvis. Peggy, oddly enough, didn’t receive any extra work aside from box hauling, and Steve suspected that the punishment he’d received was really due to the fact that he was in the women’s bathroom rather than taking lunch early. Fortunately, he had a damn good girlfriend, and she stayed to at least offer moral support since she couldn’t very well write the reports for him without Rollins seeing the difference in their handwriting. If there was ever a time when Steve thought he should have sprung for a Quick-Quotes Quill, it was in the last couple of hours.

Now he was grumpy, hungry, and tired on top of everything else since Jarvis had dropped his little information bomb on them. Then, to add insult to injury, he realized that Bucky would probably be asleep by now even if he hadn’t collapsed right when he got home (which had become the norm), leaving Steve to prepare something to eat while brutally berating himself for not just picking up some fucking takeout before heading home.

_Grilled cheese a la toaster it is,_ he sighed as he retrieved his keys from his pocket and unlocked the apartment door. It wasn’t the most substantial of meals (or the healthiest according to the voice in his head that sounded uncannily like Peggy’s _and_ his mom’s at the same time), but at least it was quick and required little effort. He could deal with that and not a whole lot else right now.

The second he stepped through the door, however, Steve was greeted by the cacophony of his Dark Detectors going off and dashed straight to the bookshelf. His Sneakoscope was spinning faster than he’d realized it could go, lit up and whistling in such a high pitch that he was surprised there were no dogs barking in the vicinity. He’d thought it was just malfunctioning over the last couple of weeks since it had taken to going off randomly at all times of the day or night, but now…he wasn’t so sure. His Probity Probe was blinking madly right beside it with his Secrecy Sensor vibrating against the wood of the bookshelf until the whole thing was practically shaking apart.

Batting his hands at them didn’t help, to absolutely no one’s surprise, and they didn’t calm when he tried to touch them either. Unsure of what else to do and left with few options, he drew his wand and thought, _Silencio!_

The noise immediately ceased, although his Sneakoscope and Secrecy Sensor were still moving as they continued to detect whatever had set them off to begin with. The thought put Steve on edge, and he slowly turned with his wand raised at chest height to survey the rest of the apartment. The living room was clear, as was the hall down towards their bedrooms. Both of their doors and the one leading into the bathroom were open, and he took a few steps toward the hall to inspect them when Winter came darting out of the kitchen. She spotted him and immediately skidded on the hardwood to change directions, attacking his legs with her front paws and meowing loudly at him.

“Hey, Win,” he cooed, kneeling down slowly with his eyes still sporadically shifting between the cat and the rest of the apartment just in case she’d been running _from_ something—or some _one_.

Winter pawed wildly at his knees, stopping to run in a circle before repeating the process. It wasn’t exactly a normal habit for her, so he frowned in confusion.

“Buck? You here?”

No answer.

“What’s the matter?” he whispered to Winter, holding out a hand to pet her head. “You mad he’s not here for cudd— _ow_!”

For the first time ever, Winter _intentionally_ scratched him and meowed furiously in his face when he stuck his finger in his mouth. She’d broken the skin but hadn’t drawn blood; if she’d wanted to, he had no doubt that she would have. Regardless, she was trying to tell him something—and it wasn’t that she wanted pets and snuggles like she normally would when he came through the door and Bucky wasn’t home.

Steve straightened back up and, apparently taking it as evidence that the stupid human was ready to listen, Winter took back off toward the kitchen with Steve trailing along behind her.

“ _Shit_!”

His wand clattered to the floor as he sprinted through the kitchen and literally slid across the tile floor on his knees toward Bucky’s prone form. He was sprawled out right in the middle of the kitchen floor, his limbs bent in an almost unnatural way.

“Bucky?” whispered Steve, shaking him gingerly. When he didn’t stir even remotely, Steve grabbed both his shoulders and jerked him upright a little less gently than he’d planned. “Bucky? _Bucky_!”

Nothing. Bucky remained completely limp and unresponsive, his head hanging back on his neck so far that Steve was worried he was hurting him and hurried to return Bucky more carefully to the floor. Steve’s chest was heaving as adrenaline pumped through his system. Leaning over Bucky, he placed his fingers to his pulse point in apprehension, not feeling anything at first…

_There!_

It was thready, but it was there. Steve fell back on his ass and closed his eyes, attempting to calm the panic that was still waging war against his senses and _think_. Bucky was unconscious but alive—if he’d fallen, Steve had no idea if he’d hit his head or how hard, so it had been a stupid idea to fucking move him, _way to go dumbass_ , but he wasn’t sure if it was best to leave him where he was or take him to the hospital—

He was distracted by Winter, who was pawing at his leg again to get his attention. She appeared to be marginally remorseful about attacking his finger a minute ago— _not that that matters because what the fuck am I going to do about Bucky?!_ —and used just the pads of her tiny toes to ensure that his eyes were on her when she hopped over Bucky’s leg. She made a beeline for his messenger bag, which Bucky must have dropped when he collapsed, and commenced clawing at the clasp with a pleading mewl in Steve’s direction.

“Great, because there’s gotta be _more_ ,” he muttered even as he began scooting across the floor anyway. He cast a glance back at Bucky, feeling guilty for not immediately doing something, but he was breathing and had a pulse so Steve could take three seconds to see what Winter the Danger Detector had discovered in the bag.

With trembling hands, Steve had to try a few times to get Bucky’s messenger bag open before he managed it, dumping everything out haphazardly when he realized it would take too long to look through it all in a neater fashion. There wasn’t much aside from the normal shit Bucky usually carried with him back and forth to S.H.I.E.L.D.—a notebook, some files on new arrivals to familiarize himself with, two binders of emergency contact information for the staff _and_ their daytime attendees, a bottle of water, and…

“What the hell?” he murmured when Winter immediately hissed at a plain little silver coin that he’d nearly missed underneath one of the binders. It almost looked like a Sickle, but there were no markings on the smooth metal. She absolutely refused to get within two feet of the thing, which was enough to tell him something was off about it, and he waited for her to haul ass back over to Bucky before plucking it off the ground. Despite how warm it was both outside and in the apartment, the metal was ice cold to the touch and actually shocked him as if it were charged with electricity.

_I wonder…_

After shifting back to check Bucky’s pulse again, he quickly got to his feet and sprinted back out to the bookshelf to grab his Probity Probe—what had been a flashing light before was a steady luminescence now. Something was up with that coin, and whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

But that was for another time. Right now, he had bigger things to worry about.

So, Steve absentmindedly popped the coin in his pocket to deal with later and returned to the kitchen, where he retrieved his wand from the floor. Winter was perched on Bucky’s stomach, kneading her paws into his chest without extending her claws in the most adorably heartbreaking attempt to rouse him that Steve thought he’d ever seen. Sighing, he didn’t bother dislodging her as he grabbed the bottle of water that had toppled out with the rest of Bucky’s things, thought of St. Mungo’s, and whispered, “ _Portus._ ” 

The bottle glowed blue for a moment before returning to its usual appearance. Steve apologized softly to Winter when he pulled her into his arms, clasped Bucky’s hand tightly in his free one, and poked a finger away from Winter’s fur to touch the Portkey. The three of them were whisked out of the kitchen and into amorphous space as they were transported to the hospital.

Steve didn’t bother worrying about the consequences he could face for creating an unauthorized Portkey—he was an Auror and this was an emergency. He’d make whatever he had to in order to get Bucky the help he needed, the Ministry and the rest of the world be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Sorry?


	11. A Sleeping Menace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear in mind that a substantial part of the story will be from Steve's point of view, so if you notice differences in the writing, it's because he thinks differently from Bucky in a lot of ways.

“Steve?”

Forcing his head up from where it had been buried in his hands, Steve managed a weak smile in relief at seeing his mom hurrying across the room towards him. He rose to meet her, and a sigh escaped him as she wrapped him in a hug he hadn’t realized he’d needed so desperately.

“How is he?” she whispered into his shoulder.

Steve shrugged. “They haven’t said anything yet.”

They held onto each other for another couple of minutes, not that anyone paid them any mind. If there was one place in the world where it was expected to see outbursts of emotion and affection, it was a hospital. That never changed whether you were a wizard or a Muggle.

It had been a long couple of hours since Steve arrived, and not one moment of it had been anything less than stressful. The Portkey had dropped them in the middle of the reception area, which had fortunately not caused much of a stir; apparently it was no huge surprise for someone to arrive with an unconscious body in tow, although the Healers had been a little less forgiving about the cat. Steve had flashed them his identification and informed them that under no circumstances would Winter be removed from Bucky’s side, though, and they hadn’t been in a mood to argue with him. Yet. Instead they’d immediately begun examining Bucky and carted him off to Steve could only guess where. They refused to tell him and merely insisted that he head up to the fifth floor, where he could sit in the Visitor’s Tearoom to await any news.

There hadn’t been any after that. Steve put off calling his mother for as long as he conceivably could before reluctantly resigning himself to the fact that there would be no good news for him to reassure her with alongside the bad. Of course, she’d been at work because of the time difference, so he’d left a message. Apparently she’d gotten it.

When she pulled away, he noticed that her eyes were red despite their lack of tears. He figured he probably looked about the same; exhaustion clung to him like a second skin by that point. There hadn’t been time for him to change out of his robes, so he was standing in nothing but his trousers and an undershirt—he couldn’t stand to wear his full uniform a second longer than necessary on a regular day and had balled it up on a chair for Winter to nest in by about the one-hour mark. She’d been even more disgruntled than him to be left behind while the Healers did whatever they had to, and her eyes never once left the doorway into the corridor through which they’d arrived.

Steve had whispered over and over again that he totally understood where she was coming from and that someone would be there soon. It never seemed to speed up time.

“What happened?” demanded his mom, guiding him over to sit down beside Winter’s abode. “All you said was there was something wrong in your message.”

Exhaling heavily, Steve recounted what had happened from the time he entered their apartment after work right up until the present moment, not leaving out a single detail. When he spoke of the coin setting off his Dark Detectors, her expression hardened into something suspicious and distrustful.

“Do you know what it was?”

“No idea,” he muttered, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the coin. He held it out to her in his open palm but pulled his hand back a bit when she went to take it. “Don’t touch it. I’m not sure what it does.”

She mumbled something about high and mighty Aurors being full of shit, but she didn’t argue outright as she leaned closer to examine the smooth silver finish. Steve turned it over in his hand to show her the identical opposite side before depositing it back into his pocket with a glance around to make sure no one else had seen. There was only a wizened wizard in the far corner of the room, who had been staring into his coffee as if it held all the answers to the universe for almost an hour, so Steve figured they were safe.

“So, whatever it is isn’t good,” surmised his mom, to which he nodded in affirmation.

“I’ll figure out what it is later. I don’t want to take it to the Ministry and let them get their hands on it, though.”

“Smart idea.”

Nodding, Steve fell silent for a minute before quietly blurting out, “This is my fault.”

He could see his mom’s frown from the corner of his eye. “Why would you say that?”

There was an _oh, shit_ moment where he realized he hadn’t quite filled her in on how Bucky had been feeling over the last few weeks. Steve cringed inwardly at how she was going to react to hearing _that_ news had been kept from her, especially since Steve was almost positive that it would have kept Bucky out of his current predicament to have gotten her opinion on his symptoms.

_Too late for that now._

“He’s been sick for three weeks,” he admitted hesitantly.

Sure enough, Sarah nearly shouted, “ _What?!”_ before remembering where they were and altering her tone to one of quiet rage instead. “What do you mean he’s been sick for _three weeks_? And neither of you said a _word_ about it?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he groaned, dropping his face into his hands to adopt the same position he’d been in when she arrived. His voice was muffled as he continued through his fingers, “We thought he’d get better, that it was just him tiring himself out. You _know_ he always does that.”

“Well, _clearly_ that’s not what this is,” scoffed Sarah. It didn’t appear that she was mad at him for having a hand in Bucky’s condition so much as for not telling her about it in the first place. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised by that at all.

“I guess not,” he agreed softly. He let his hands fall into his lap and stared down at the tile floor. “I shouldn’t have let him go to the Ministry today. I told him this would be the last time and after that, it was over. Should’ve fucking told him not to go.”

It was a testament to just how serious the situation was that his mom didn’t even attempt to scold him for his language. Instead she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him close to her side. It was no mean feat when he was so huge by comparison, but she managed it with grace the way she handled everything. He could feel her deflating in the face of his anguish, sharing his pain and setting her anger aside (hopefully _not_ to be dealt with at a later time).

“It’s not your fault, baby,” she comforted him, sounding confident in spite of the slight tremble in her lower lip. “We’ll just stage an intervention and make him take some time off when he’s on his feet again.”

Snorting humorlessly, Steve remarked, “Yeah, because that’s gonna go over well.”

“Don’t care. It’s happening. I’ll tie him to the fucking couch if I have to.”

That brought a grin to his face. Leave it to his mom to take tough love to a whole new level—he had no doubt in his mind that she would follow through on that. Of course, she wouldn’t actually _tie_ him down when she could use magic to freeze Bucky in place, but the point still remained.

They sat in silent solidarity for a while, his mom caressing his arm soothingly while he wondered idly if he should text Nat or Sam or someone to let them know what was happening, until a Healer in the standard lime green uniform entered the room and called Steve’s name.

“That’s me.” He was up like a shot, his mom right alongside him.

The Healer approached them with the same politely distant expression healthcare professionals always adopted, clipboard in hand. “I’m Healer Temple, I’ve been assigned to Mr. Barnes’s case,” she told them, shaking their hands before continuing. “He’s been settled into a room. Perhaps it would be better for us to talk there?”

“So, you’re keeping him here?” inquired his mom while Steve retrieved an increasingly restless Winter.

There was a slight pause before Healer Temple replied, “We’re admitting him, yes. That was always a definite. We just weren’t sure which floor to put him on.”

“What do you mean by that?” inquired Steve as they followed her out of the room towards the elevators. Once they were inside and heading down to the fourth floor, Healer Temple glanced up at him.

“His condition is curious to say the least,” she explained tactfully. “He’s stable, which is a good thing, but—“

“Listen,” his mom interrupted, her tone and expression hard as steel. “I’m a nurse in New York. Don’t sugarcoat it. Just tell us what’s going on.”

Healer Temple wasn’t the least bit taken aback by her reaction and nodded as they stepped out into a clinical corridor, leading the way down to the fifth room on the right. It was a single room, which was odd since most patients usually shared with three or even four other people in this part of St. Mungo’s. Instead it was just Bucky, pale against the sheets of the bed he’d been settled into. His dad’s dog tags had been removed and his clothes replaced with attire suitable for patients, which Steve knew his mother would be complaining about right away. Steve had plenty of experience to know just how flimsy those garments were, and there was only one blanket on the bed to keep Bucky warm. He distantly placed a mental bet that there would be five more by morning.

There was nothing connected to Bucky the way Steve had been expecting. When he’d been a frequent flyer in magical and Muggle hospitals alike, there was usually something that you got hooked up to for one reason or another—a monitor, an IV, something. Bucky could have simply been sleeping if Steve didn’t already know that they couldn’t wake him up.

Spotting her human, Winter struggled against him until Steve stepped closer to the bed for her to hop down onto the mattress. There was luckily no immediate rebuke from the Healer when she burrowed into the space between Bucky’s arm and chest, mewling quietly as she pressed her face into his armpit and fell still now that she was where she belonged.

It wasn’t until Healer Temple had closed the door and turned to face them that she addressed his mom’s statement. For the first time, there was something tentative and uncomfortable in her tone despite the steely glint in her eyes. She was determined to tell them the truth this time, which was great—Steve just wasn’t sure he could gird himself to hear it.

“We haven’t seen anything like this before,” Healer Temple began, showing his mom her clipboard. “We’ve done every test we can think of, but we can’t find anything _wrong_ with him. His heart is fine, breathing is normal, eyes are dilating regularly, brain activity is actually a little _higher_ than we’d expect… For all intents and purposes, he should be awake right now. We tried a number of potions and Muggle remedies to rouse him, but he’s completely unresponsive. When I said we couldn’t decide where to put him, I meant it was because we aren’t sure what’s wrong yet. We were debating between the Magical Bugs floor or here in Spell Damage—either he’s sick and we just haven’t seen the other symptoms yet, or he may have gotten hit by a nasty curse that isn’t detectable.”

“So why did you decide on Spell Damage?” asked his mother with a frown.

“We didn’t want to risk him catching anything while he’s here,” Healer Temple shrugged reasonably. “Besides, usually curses are the more likely option. If he brushed up against someone, it’s possible there was a moment when he came into contact with something imbued with dark magic. It’s a lot more likely than him picking up some kind of bug that we’ve never seen before that leaves absolutely no traces whatsoever.”

Steve and his mom exchanged a quick glance, and he knew she was thinking of exactly the same thing he was: the coin.

“All right,” sighed his mother, handing the clipboard back to Healer Temple. “How long can we expect him to be here?”

“Honestly, I have no estimates for you. We’re going to continue running tests, but it’s really a waiting game. When he wakes up, we can go from there.”

The rest was fairly routine information: it would be fine if they stayed with him, Winter might actually help him resurface so she could remain as long as she didn’t mess with anything, and next steps. Before the Healer could leave, Steve won his internal wager when his mother asked her to have someone bring a few blankets or turn up the heat in the room, which got her a polite nod as the Healer closed the door behind her.

The moment they were alone, his mom’s shoulders drooped as she deflated and trudged over to Bucky’s bed. While she was brushing her fingers through his hair, she inquired, “Why didn’t you say anything about that coin?”

 _Great, she caught that._ He’d been hoping it would escape her notice, but apparently he’d forgotten the first rule of parenting: never forget _anything_.

Clearing his throat, Steve explained, “If it gets out that he’s here, the coin will hit the news too. Odds are, the Ministry will confiscate it for analysis and we’ll never see it again. I’m not letting it go until I know what it is and why it’s setting off every damn detector at home.”

“And if it might be able to help them figure out what’s wrong?” she shrewdly pointed out. When Steve didn’t have an answer for that, she shook her head and softened her expression. “I’m not saying you should have given it to them. I’m just telling you to be careful. Whatever it is, I don’t want it doing the same thing to _you_ that it’s done to Bucky. _If_ that’s even what caused this.”

Steve nodded and hauled a chair over from the other end of the room so she could sit down. He could tell from the look on her face that she was just as exhausted as he was, both physically and emotionally. They couldn’t take a breather now, though: they would stand guard in constant vigil. They would be here when Bucky woke and even if he didn’t. And Steve would find out what the hell was going on if it killed him.

 

***

 

Natasha deliberately laid her palms down on her desk, her narrowed green eyes never once leaving Steve’s face as she hissed, “You took him to the hospital _last night_ and are only _now_ telling me?”

Steve had never feared for his life in the presence of a friend. Today would apparently be the first time.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, pushing his hair out of his face. “Everything was happening so fast and there was so much going on at St. Mungo’s that it just…it slipped my mind. I’m sorry, Natasha.”

His apology didn’t appear to do much good, yet he wasn’t quite sure what more he could do. It was the truth: he _had_ lost track of time with everything going on.

Steve hadn’t gotten to bed the night before. At all. He and his mom had sat at Bucky’s bedside doing nothing but watch him breathe for hours. Winter never once emerged from her burrow beside him; she emitted the occasional purr or whine and cuddled closer as if her mere presence would be enough to get Bucky to awaken. (For the first time ever, it wasn’t.) Eventually, his mother had quietly suggested that one of them needed to contact the Petrovs to let them know what happened, and Steve was the one to handle it since she looked like it was all she could do not to break down seeing one of her boys in the hospital. It had been a long time since she’d had to witness Steve like that, and not knowing what was wrong with Bucky dredged up ancient fears that he would be snatched away from them again when they least expected it. So Steve had gotten up and left the room, speaking in hushed tones over the phone with an increasingly frantic Tatiana until she indicated they were on their way.

When they arrived on the scene, it was just about time for S.H.I.E.L.D. to open for Saturday classes, and Steve knew he couldn’t avoid the inevitable any longer. He’d forced himself to text their friends to meet him at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters so he could tell them in person, leaving Bucky in the capable hands of his mother and the Petrovs. Yes, it had struck him that he probably should have contacted their friends much sooner, even if it was only a group text, but there just wasn’t enough energy left in him by that point to field the hundreds of questions and concerns they would indubitably have thrown at him had he done that. There had also been something innately sacred about having just Bucky’s family there with him rather than a troupe of close friends parading through to find out what the fuck was happening. It would all have been out of support—he _knew_ that. But still, it seemed like an invasion of Bucky’s privacy. After all, he was the one who couldn’t stand even the _idea_ of Steve’s mom seeing him in the throes of his grief when they were sixteen; the last thing he’d agree to was all their friends visiting him in the hospital to find him so helpless.

If that meant Steve took the brunt of everyone’s ire when they found out he was withholding the news from them, that was the choice he made. Standing by that decision was the only reason he was able to bully his exhausted body into straightening further under Nat’s stern, betrayed glare.

“Look, I came straight to you as soon as I could,” he argued with her silent rebuke. “I can’t change the past or what happened, but there’s plenty we need to get done. So if you’re going to be mad at me, can we at least do it while we work?”

That seemed to snap Nat out of her temper, albeit only slightly, and she demanded with an impressive amount of snark, “What work? Last time I looked, you worked for the Ministry and I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. The Belgium case is closed, so there’s really nothing we should be working on together. Unless there’s something _else_ you’re not telling me.”

Snorting, Steve shook his head and dug around in his pocket. One thing he _had_ managed to do before heading over to see Nat this morning was change his clothes, but he was still carrying around the coin from Bucky’s messenger bag like a talisman just to be sure that it didn’t get left anywhere only to disappear when he tried to find it again. Call him paranoid, but there was a _reason_ Janet van Dyne had said he was one of the best Aurors on the team.

“Winter found this in his bag,” he explained, tossing it down on the desk for Nat to examine. “She wouldn’t go anywhere near it, and it set off pretty much every Dark Detector I’ve got in the apartment. My Sneakoscope has been going off for over a week—I thought it was broken, but now I’m thinking this is what was setting it off.”

“Which means whatever it is has been with Bucky for at least that long,” mused Nat while she turned the coin over and over in her hand with a thoughtful expression. “Do you feel the magic in it?”

Steve nodded, holding out his hand for the coin. Despite being up against his body for so long, it was _still_ freezing to the touch. He _still_ got the same shock of electricity when it came into contact with his skin. “Do you know where he might have gotten this?”

“Man, we don’t know much of anything,” sighed Sam as he strode into the room with Clint, Wanda, and Skye on his tail. “None of us has talked to him in a couple of weeks. He’s in and out faster than we can catch him.”

“That and he hasn’t really been keeping up with his records,” added Skye, plopping down on one of Nat’s couches. Her face was pale and there were dried tear-stains on her cheeks as evidence of her reaction to Steve telling all of them what happened to Bucky before being unceremoniously torn away by Nat.

“What’re you talking about?”

“It means he hasn’t been keeping notes on what he’s been up to at the Ministry,” clarified Wanda. Her usually calm, collected expression was noticeably absent today, replaced by a concerned frown that didn’t look like it was going away anytime soon. “Usually Bucky takes detailed notes when he’s doing business, especially with potential donors.”

Clint interjected, “We checked his office while you guys were talking, top to bottom. There’s nothing from the last few weeks. The only thing he wrote about the Ministry was that he declined Pierce’s proposal.”

“And he wouldn’t tell any of us what it was he was doing there, anyway,” observed Nat, obviously aggravated about that. “I already told you, he just kept telling me he was looking for something to use against Pierce. He wouldn’t say what he’d already found while he was there.”

“I told him on Thursday that yesterday was his last day, no arguments.” Steve folded his arms over his chest and confided in them, “Jarvis found something that might implicate Pierce in something pretty nasty depending on what it is.”

“Nasty as in anti-Muggle asshole nasty?” Clint asked with a dark expression. His fingers kept clenching into fists like he might go find the Minister and find out in person.

“We have no idea,” admitted Steve with a helpless shrug. “All we know is that, at the very least, he’s been funneling money that was supposed to be used for the kids you guys had here before Pierce took them away out of the welfare office accounts and into a separate one for the Department of Mysteries. What he plans to do with it is still a secret, but it won’t be for much longer if Jarvis keeps on it. Anyway, I’d been planning on telling Bucky that when I got home so he wouldn’t feel so bad about not finding anything, but…”

There was really nothing more to say: they knew what had happened and Steve didn’t want to have to repeat it.

The others were silent for a while, each seemingly as lost in their thoughts as Steve until Wanda finally wondered aloud, “Do you think the welfare office knows what happened to the money?”

 _That’s a really good question._ Steve shook his head. “We’d have to ask, but it would show Pierce we know about the account.” Another thought occurred to him, one he hadn’t thought of since snooping through Pierce’s belongings the previous day before the world turned upside down. “But… Pierce had a file in his office. When I looked through it—“

“Pierce let you look through one of his personal files?” scoffed Skye with skeptically raised eyebrows.

“No, he wasn’t in his office.”

Nat hummed appreciatively. “We’ll make a spy out of you yet, Rogers.”

Rolling his eyes, he snarked back, “Well, Karpov caught me, so I’m not sure I’d be in the right business.”

“Karpov caught you?” repeated Sam, stepping forward with narrowed eyes. “Did he see what you were looking at?”

“I don’t think so,” shrugged Steve. “I’m not sure how long he was standing there, but other than the S.H.I.E.L.D. file, I didn’t get into anything that he could see anyway.”

“But if he told Pierce, he’d know something’s up,” interrupted Nat. She held her hand up for silence when he tried to continue. “It’s no secret to anyone that you’re best friends with Bucky, especially not the Minister. If Karpov saw you in that folder and told him, odds are he would know who you were trying to sniff out information for.”

That, of course, had occurred to Steve innumerable times between his encounter with Karpov and this morning, but the timeline didn’t fit. “It’s not like he could have done anything to Bucky over that, though. If they met with each other yesterday, it was before I talked to Karpov.”

“So if whatever is wrong with Bucky _is_ because of Pierce,” surmised Wanda, “it means it probably happened when Bucky saw him, not because you found that folder.”

“Exactly.”

“Was there anything in it?”

Shaking his head, Steve listed the few things he’d seen. “There was money in there, too. I texted Jarvis this morning to tell him to keep an eye out for the number, but I haven’t heard anything yet.”

Nat leaned back in her chair, eyebrows furrowed and eyes distant as she processed everything through her brilliant mind. The rest of them waited, knowing that whatever she had to say was going to be important, and they weren’t disappointed.

“So one document promises money to S.H.I.E.L.D. with everything else. Ministry records show that what’s probably that money is getting shifted to the Department of Mysteries. There’s one group that hasn’t had a say in any of this that I think we’re forgetting.”

When none of them offered up a guess, her expression flattened and she heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes at their incomprehension.

“Has anyone bothered speaking to the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children about any of this?”

 

***

 

Steve hated waiting.

More than that, he hated waiting when he had nothing that could distract him.

Nat had been adamant that they would get somewhere if they spoke with the people at the welfare office about what was happening; even if they weren’t in on Pierce’s game, their answers might reveal something that they hadn’t thought of before to link with everything else and provide a bigger picture. The only problem was that the Ministry wasn’t open again until Monday, so Steve had nothing better to do from Saturday afternoon through Monday morning than sit and watch Bucky sleep.

He wasn’t alone. That was at least better than the alternative. His mom had left for approximately five minutes to pack a small suitcase full of clothing, fully intent on camping out in Bucky’s room until he was released. Tatiana and Mikhail had reached the same decision; they’d arrived with luggage in tow after Steve had spoken with them, and they hadn’t left since. Steve was the only one who was constantly in and out. As much as he wanted to stay by Bucky’s side and not miss a second, he was going insane waiting for something to change. So he did what the other three couldn’t bring themselves to: he brought food, he checked the news, he kept in touch with their friends to keep them apprised of the situation, and he went back to their apartment (which was silent now that Nat was keeping the coin under lock and key in her personal safe) to get food and toys for Winter. She wasn’t really feeling like playing, not when all she wanted was to spend every waking moment curled into Bucky’s side with her eyes locked on his face. The biggest reaction Steve had gotten out of her since Bucky was admitted aside from eating (but only if her bowl was on the bed where she could keep her human in her sights at all times) was when he’d brought her monkey. She’d managed to pull her gaze away from her charge long enough to snatch the treasured toy into her firm embrace before cuddling closer to Bucky and returning to her vigil.

Those small errands didn’t take long, however, which left him plenty of time to sit in a chair by the window of Bucky’s room and sketch. He attempted to create something happy so he could maybe hang it up in the room to give it a bit of character— instead, he frequently found his pencil recreating the shadows under Bucky’s eyes or the way his limbs had been sprawled awkwardly on their kitchen floor or how the hospital lights made him look wan and sickly despite the fact that the Healers were still not sure what was causing his coma. The worst part was that the images were still as death in a sketchbook that was supposed to bring everything he drew to life. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking on his part that if he sketched Bucky in that particular book, it would somehow wake his friend on this side of reality. All he was left with by the end of the weekend was half a sketchbook filled with haunting images and regret for the things he should have done before it got this bad.

Needless to say, Steve was ready to go out of his tree by the time he had to get ready for work Monday morning. He hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital despite his restless agitation, but his mom had all but pushed him from the room on Sunday night so he could go home and rest.

“We’re not going anywhere,” she’d reassured him, pointing to where Tatiana and Mikhail had fallen asleep, the former in a chair while the latter was draped on the edge of Bucky’s mattress. “I promise I’ll call you if there’s any change. Right now, you have to help in other ways. Okay?”

How could he possibly argue with that?

The answer was obvious, so he’d kissed her cheek and hugged her tightly before sparing Bucky one final glance and Apparating home. As horrible as he felt to admit it, he woke feeling more refreshed than he had in two days the following morning and was actually _functional_ when he walked into the Ministry.

What he had planned to do was make a beeline straight for the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children and demand to see the person in charge. He would tell them that he was part of an ongoing investigation into potential corruption at the Ministry (a boldfaced lie) and needed to know what information James Barnes had access to over the last month. Then he would insist on seeing that information, confiscating it for further study while declaring that he needed to sit down with the powers that be for a chat. He would bring up the proposal for the shift of resources to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s custody and how they felt about that. He would inquire after what exactly they knew, if anything, about the merger and what it would mean both for their office and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s bottom line. Then he would walk out with answers and, preferably, go straight to Pierce’s office to accuse him of cursing Bucky to somehow hide his tracks.

Unfortunately, nothing went according to plan.

“What the hell’s going on?” he hissed to Peggy as the entire department crowded around Rollins’s office.

Shrugging, she breathed back, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Over the weekend, Peggy had been one of his rocks, along with his mom and the Petrovs. She’d respected the fact that he needed some distance and agreed that too many people would be a bad thing if they all showed up at the hospital; regardless, her presence had been constantly with him via text as she tried to reassure him that everything would be all right. It hadn’t been altogether convincing, but he’d taken comfort where he could.

Now, however, it appeared that she was just as in the dark as he was. All anyone seemed to know for certain was that they each had an order at their desk to report to Rollins’s office for a briefing announcement immediately upon their arrival and to be prompt about attending.

The man wasn’t kidding—they were hardly congregated before he emerged from his office with none other than Brock fucking Rumlow in his wake, the latter wearing the same self-satisfied smirk that Steve was pretty sure he’d had tattooed in place when they were teenagers. It was the only way he could think of that someone could look like that big a douche for such a long time.

 “Everyone, listen up,” announced Rollins, who was the exact opposite. As usual, his expression was practically plastic as he declared, “From this point forward, we’re going to have a new focus. Unless you’re working on an ongoing critical case, set the rest aside.”

There was a small commotion as a few of the senior agents cried foul, but one glare from Rollins had them shutting their mouths fast. Steve _almost_ exclaimed with his own proclamation of injustice but managed to keep himself in check this time. He wanted to know what exactly they would be working on if they were ditching their current investigations. (Not that he would be disappointed to see the last of the necromancer idiot, but still, it was the principle of the matter.)

“As I was saying, we are being reassigned until further notice. Our current threat index has gone from yellow to red, only it’s not a threat from dark wizards.” He let that sink in for a moment before the other shoe dropped. “This weekend, some of you may have read in the _Prophet_ that there were a number of deaths throughout the British Wizarding community. We received intelligence last night from undercover Aurors in the field that these murders were committed by the group of Muggles currently wanted in connection with the Belgium case who have yet to be apprehended.”

_You have got to be fucking kidding me._

“I’m sorry, is there a problem, Rogers?”

His eyes widened microscopically as he realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud, but he wasn’t willing to take it back. Instead he squared his shoulders and prepared for the end of his career.

“Actually, there is,” he confirmed, ignoring the way Peggy was stepping on his foot. “What proof was offered to say that those were the Muggles who committed these crimes? After all, I thought they were interested in using us as _experiments_ , not just outright killing magical beings.”

If Rollins caught the sarcasm he injected into the notion that a bunch of Muggles were to blame for Belgium when there were obvious Hydra undertones that had yet to be mentioned, he made no indication of it. Instead he raised an eyebrow and inquired, “Is there a reason the confirmation itself isn’t proof enough?”

_Well, may as well go all the way._

“With all due respect, sir, we were taught by the Ministry to question everything and leave no stone unturned to ensure that we don’t wrongfully convict anyone of a crime they didn’t commit. I’m sure plenty of us are wondering what information came in to send us out conducting witch-hunts on Muggles rather than the _real_ witches.”

There were a few brave murmurs of assent throughout the congregation, but Rollins appeared unimpressed. Steve couldn’t tell if that was because he _was_ or if it was just his natural expression; they were too similar to truly differentiate. Rumlow, however, was as easy to read as a library book: his face was turning red as he appeared to fight with himself. It must have been difficult to let Rollins take the lead when that had always been _his_ gig.

A moment of silence passed where he thought Rollins might just ignore him and continue as if he hadn’t spoken. Then he smirked slightly and hedged, “Suffice it to say that there was a witness to one of the crimes who came forward with the information. They testified that all of the Muggle suspects in the Belgium case, as identified originally by William Baker, were present for these murders. Now if there are no further questions...”

No one said anything. Whether they truly had no questions or were simply chewing too much grass to protest like good little sheep had yet to be seen.

“Good. Until further notice, we are on high alert. There will be Aurors here around the clock, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week until these Muggles are caught. We will have regular patrols in high-risk areas. Say goodbye to your families, because it might be a while before you see them again. Today, I want everyone checking recent communication records delivered through the Security Insight Protocol for any suspicious information. Memos will be sent out to you by the end of the day with your assignments for this week. They may be subject to change depending on our need. If you have any questions that can’t be answered by common sense, see me. Dismissed.”

Rollins didn’t wait for them to acknowledge his orders. He simply spun on his heel, strode right past Rumlow, and disappeared into his office with the latter right behind him.

As soon as the door was closed, everyone scattered in a cloud of hushed whispers and indignant scoffing. Peggy looked about ready to blow a fuse, too angry with the situation and Rollins to berate Steve for being so careless as to question their orders when they could have gotten the information another (see: _smarter_ ) way first.

“This is absolutely asinine,” she muttered as they returned to their cubicles. “He’s pulling everyone off important cases to go hunting ghosts. It’s despicable.”

“It’s just the kind of game Pierce would play,” mused Steve darkly. They slowed to a stop at his desk, and Peggy frowned up at him.

“What could this gain him, though? Aside from more publicity for his nonsense anti-Muggle rhetoric.”

Frowning, it took a second for Steve’s brain to catch up with everything else. He was getting quicker these days with all the ridiculous obstacles he had to wrap his mind around, but politics still wasn’t his most fluent language. “I think he’s onto us.”

Being much faster on the uptake than Steve, realization dawned almost immediately on Peggy’s face. “Karpov.”

Steve nodded and breathed, “He probably told Pierce I was in his office. Maybe he put two and two together or maybe he didn’t, but whatever this is, it’s definitely taking us off the scent we _want_ to be on— _his_.”

“Well, if he thinks we’ll be that easy to distract, he’ll have another bloody thing coming,” huffed Peggy, stomping off toward her own desk. Steve grimaced in her wake, not sure he really wanted to know what she meant by that. For now, all he could do was lay low and do his job. He’d be of no use to anyone if he got thrown out of the Ministry and wasn’t able to get the intel that they desperately needed if they were going to hopefully out Pierce as the demon he was while helping Bucky at the same time.

So he did what he was supposed to like a good little boy, much as it pained him. He read through conversations that were everything from short and perfunctory to lengthy and intimate. He found out more about what people liked to spend their money on when they had a sizable disposable income than he probably wanted to know. He read through chats between corrupt politicians, harried soccer moms, cheating assholes, and heartbroken teenagers who had no idea their problems were _nothing_ compared to what they _could_ be.

He invaded people’s privacy until his eyes were crossing, thanking every power there was when he was finally able to take his lunch break.

Well, not quite a _break_.

 _Now_ he got to head down to the welfare office, though he supposed he wouldn’t have nearly the amount of time to find out what he wanted with Rollins on the warpath. He mentally streamlined his process and decided to just stick to the basic facts, knowing that there would be other times to come asking questions later.

That was what he thought, anyway. What actually happened was, once again, not exactly according to plan.

“What the hell do you _mean_ , there’s no Ministry-S.H.I.E.L.D. merger?” Steve demanded of the director of the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children, who was staring at him like he’d lost a few marbles on the way down the hall.

“Just what I said,” she responded slowly as if speaking to a small child. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but there have been no talks on our end from _anyone_ about merging our resources with any other entity, Ministry-based or otherwise. And James Barnes hasn’t been here since we had a confirmation meeting for an adoption almost six months ago.”

The interrogation devolved from there. No one knew anything—not about Pierce, not about S.H.I.E.L.D., not about Bucky—and Steve left with more questions than when he’d arrived and no clue where he was going to find the answers.


	12. Entering the Games

Clint sighed heavily as he mumbled, “Of all the people we’re asking for help, you choose Stark.”

“Don’t look at _me_ ,” warned Steve with a pointed nod in Nat’s direction. The latter simply rolled her eyes from the other side of the elevator.

“It’s the only smart move left right now.”

“How’s that?” inquired Clint skeptically. The idea of Tony being the smart option was admittedly a little hysterical, but that may have been due to just how little sleep all of them had gotten in the days since Bucky had been hospitalized.

Nat leveled him with a mildly incredulous glare before explaining as if to a child, “Think about it. We’ve been playing the game using nothing but our good intentions against someone who has money and power. It’s about time we fought fire with fire and got someone on our side who _also_ has money and power.”

“Bucky’s got that,” observed Sam. When Nat turned her _Are You Fucking Kidding Me?_ look on him, he shrugged helplessly. “Hey, the man is rich as hell and everyone loves him. He’s had power since he was _born_.”

That _was_ true: Bucky had been in the public eye since they were babies. If he said something, the public was eating out of his hand. He smiled, and his face was all over the _Prophet_ ; he frowned, and people wanted to know what was wrong. It was a lot of power to wield for someone so young, even if he was an adult now.

“Yes, he does have power,” conceded Nat with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But you’re forgetting one very important thing: he’s not willing to _use it_ , not like Pierce is.”

“That isn’t quite true,” argued Thor with a frown. Steve had been surprised when he’d decided to come with them to speak to Tony, but it appeared that Thor had grown fonder of Bucky in the time they spent together at S.H.I.E.L.D. than he had managed to during their years at Hogwarts. “He _has_ used his family’s power before. Look at the interviews he has done.”

“The one before he got the shit kicked out of him, or the one that just made Pierce look bad for five minutes?” she inquired with raised eyebrows.

Wanda, ever the mediator, butted in, “I think what Thor is trying to say is that when he has used his power, it still has not been enough. What makes you think that Stark will have more luck?”

The elevator smoothly slid to a halt and the doors opened into one of the most impressive lobbies Steve had ever seen as Nat replied, “Because Tony’s not afraid to get his hands dirty if it means getting what he wants.”

No one tried to disagree with her as they stepped out of the elevator. After all, there was a kernel of truth to that. Bucky wanted to use his power for _good_ ; he was aware of the fact that if he did something dishonest or politically underhanded, there would be reprisals aside from a personal hatred of his own actions. It was difficult for him to live under the burden of knowing that his mother would be rolling over in her grave if he did some of the things people like Pierce tried to pull, not to mention how disappointed his father would be about it. That meant that, along with following his natural propensity for honesty and dealing with things through open channels, Bucky was unwilling to do more of the dirty work Nat mentioned unless things got _bad_. That was why he’d decided to engage Pierce in this battle of the minds that had him supposedly—but apparently _not reall_ y—going to the welfare office every day. That was why he’d agreed to what was essentially corporate _and_ political espionage—because sometimes it was necessary to get your hands dirty so that the good people, like a group of kids just trying to get past what had happened to them, could remain innocent.

Bucky, unlike Tony, had too wide a moral compass and too big a pair of shoes to fill to play dirty at the drop of a hat. The self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, (former) playboy, philanthropist would have no such qualms and all the resources in the world to get shit done.

So they followed Nat onto the CEO’s floor of Stark Industries with mouths agape at the furnishings around them. Although Steve considered Tony to be a friend (most days), he had never actually been to Tony and Pepper’s company. The outside was, to be honest, an eyesore: Stark had built the most awkwardly proportioned skyscraper in London and plastered his name on the outside like the megalomaniac he frequently pretended to be. Most of the Muggle and Wizarding worlds had been impressed to cover such an amazing building, and it had been all over newspapers and websites for months after its unbelievably rapid construction (according to the bemused Muggle press).

The outside was a fairly accurate prediction of what would be contained within, it seemed. The floor was blinding white tile with sharp black grout lines in between as a stark contrast. Most of the walls were painted an industrial grey or silver color that matched nicely with the flooring, with ultramodern couches and chairs set here and there throughout the lobby’s waiting area. Floor to ceiling windows punctuated the space with a breathtaking view of the entire city; the Thames was sparkling under plentiful sunlight in the distance. The scenery was further accentuated by interesting artistic pieces that, if Steve weren’t here for something so serious, he would be foaming at the mouth to take a closer look at. Some were photographic panoramas of various cities around the world, while others were obviously modern pieces meant to evoke the same emotion you could get by looking out the window.

In the center of it all was a black reception desk that was thankfully unmanned so they could all gawk at Tony’s achievement in peace. Well, all of them except Nat, who had either seen it before (unlikely) or simply couldn’t care less (much more probable).

“Well,” sighed Clint with a grudgingly impressed glance around, “at least he didn’t make everything gold.”

“I was going to, but you have no idea how hard it is to find drapes to match.”

Steve snorted, smirking as Tony emerged from one of the rear offices with a put-upon expression to match his statement. “I’ll bet that was a real hardship,” he commiserated sarcastically.

“You would have that right, Captain Tightass,” agreed Tony. The epithet had never worn off after their third year, and Steve was disturbed to find that it didn’t actually bother him so much anymore given that Tony had thought of far worse things to call him. “So, what brings you to my humble abode?”

Steve wasn’t allowed to get the words out before Nat took over. “We’ve got a sensitive situation we could use your…talents for.”

“Did everyone hear that?” interjected Tony before she could continue. He pointed a finger at her and glanced around at the rest of them. “Tell me I wasn’t imagining that. I mean, you guys are great and everything, but if I were having a delusion there’d be a lot less clothing and a lot more boo—“

“Oh, I want to take it back,” groaned Nat with a disbelieving look at Tony.

“Too late, no take backs.” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together as if Christmas had come early.

“Maybe it would be better if we took this conversation somewhere no one’s gonna walk in on us,” suggested Sam dryly. “Like the lady said, it’s a sensitive situation.”

“Then, I would recommend the twenty-third floor,” Tony recommended while simultaneously waving them through to the office he’d vacated when they arrived. “They’re currently working on a whole line of medicinal creams that would probably fix that right up for you.”

None of them even bothered touching that one as they entered his office, which was almost a perfect match for the lobby. His dark wooden desk was right in front of a window overlooking the city, while shelves on the adjacent walls were incongruously stacked both with books and various trinkets Tony had probably toyed with until he grew tired of them and moved on to another project. None of them were positive what he even _did_ at Stark Industries, but Steve would wager a guess that it was a little bit of everything. That had always been Tony’s style anyway.

Tony threw himself into his white, high-backed desk chair and spun around once in a circle as he nonchalantly inquired, “So, lay it on me. What terrible misfortune has befallen the world that you have all come running to _moi_ for assistance with?”

Rolling her eyes, Nat folded her arms with raised eyebrows. “You know what happened to Bucky.”

“I believe the words you’re looking for are that I _don’t_ know what happened to darling James. Nobody else does either.”

“But you know he’s in St. Mungo’s,” clarified Sam flatly. Steve could tell he was already reaching the end of his patience, and they hadn’t been here ten minutes yet.

“What kind of connected billionaire would I be if I didn’t know that?” scoffed Tony, reclining back as if this was a conversation about old school memories rather than a serious discussion about a sick friend. It set Steve’s teeth on edge. “Anyway, I’m guessing you aren’t going to ask me to fix that. I’m not a Healer and I’m not a doctor—or, well, I _wasn’t_ , but I’ve got a few Ph.D. programs I’ve be—“

“Anyway,” interjected Clint with a glare at Tony, “we’re starting to think it had something to do with what he was getting into at the Ministry.”

“Ooh, political intrigue.” Tony immediately sat up, leaning across his desk toward them eagerly. “I love it. It’s just like an episode of _The West Wing_ meets _Law and Order_ meets _How to Get Away With Murder_. And what, pray tell, was Mother Teresa doing in the cesspit of Wizarding society?”

“He was _supposed_ to be looking into a merger for S.H.I.E.L.D. to take over the duties of the Office for the Welfare of Magical Children,” explained Steve. “Only we just found out there was never any deal at all. No one’s seen him there in months, so we don’t know what he was doing for the last few weeks.”

“Which I assumed from your sarcastically emphasized _supposed_. I’m guessing our brave and immoral leader was the one to offer him this golden opportunity?”

Steve nodded in confirmation, which just made Tony roll his eyes toward the ceiling in an exaggerated show of exasperation. When he turned his gaze back on them, though, Steve could see a tiny glimmer of something like concern in the depths of his eyes. It was as close as Tony got to openly indicating that he gave a shit about someone who wasn’t Pepper, so Steve wasn’t about to point it out and risk losing it altogether.

“I’m surprised he even bothered looking into it,” muttered Tony, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “He’d probably rather be poisoned by a lobalug again than consider making a deal with that guy.”

“I’m pretty sure he’d _marry_ that lobalug before making a deal with Pierce,” snorted Clint before Nat took back over.

“He wasn’t seriously considering the offer,” she pointed out like it should have been obvious. “He was just there to find information about those kids and what Pierce may have been up to in taking custody of them. He kept saying he hadn’t found anything, but he’s been acting strangely for weeks. Something’s been going on there—it’s just a matter of finding out what so we can figure out what’s wrong with him now.”

Nodding slowly, Tony leaned back once again and surveyed them with a more sober expression. “How about we start at the beginning so I can see just how much you guys fucked everything up, huh?”

Steve immediately took offense to that—they’d done everything they could to do the right thing, and Bucky had made a hell of a sacrifice for it, so they deserved at least a _little_ credit—but he didn’t bother addressing it. That would do nothing more than cause an argument they really didn’t need to get into right now. Instead he let Nat take the wheel, interjecting now and again to add a detail about things that he’d observed when he was at home with Bucky. Tony just took it all in, and when they finished, a few minutes passed before he spoke. There was a forebodingly impressed look on his face.

“Wow,” he breathed, shaking his head from side to side. “And I thought _I_ was the professional fuck-up. You guys make me look _so_ well-adjusted. It’s actually impressive. I should probably give you guys a gift or something. My old man is going to be _reeling_ when I tell hi—“

“Maybe you could skip ahead to the part where you say how you’ll help us fix this?” prompted Sam, quirking an eyebrow at his reaction. Tony’s lack of sobriety would never come as a surprise to any of them, although they didn’t exactly have time to humor him right now.

“Okay, sheesh, and you’re supposed to be a kids’ counselor.” Tony mock shuddered. “Anyway, what makes you think I even have something that could possibly be of use to you guys?”

“Probably that you’ve always got a little of everything, and that’s before we talk about the fact that we have no idea what you _actually_ make here,” deadpanned Clint.

“We don’t have time for this,” interrupted Wanda, sounding even more irritated than Sam. It was no secret that she was protective of Bucky, especially after Nat’s disastrous blind date setup last year and the unfortunate incident where she’d been forced to jinx his broom, so the fact that Tony was busy cracking jokes instead of helping was definitely getting under her skin. The same could be said for all of them.

“Tough crowd,” murmured Tony, opening his desk drawer. He fumbled around in the mess Steve could just barely see from where he stood until he held up a tiny metal washer, like the kind used to mount screws.

“What the hell is that?” Steve inquired curiously.

“This, my friend, is the Dataminer,” Tony explained, holding it out for Steve to take in his palm. “It’s a mechanical device that can be used to find literally any information you could possibly want. It can hack computer terminals, scan printed documents, record videos, and transmit all the data to the device of your choosing—Muggle or magical. You said Jarvis is hunting down leads on the Ministry’s new money pit, right?” He pointed to the device in Steve’s hand. “Just give him that and tell him to drop it somewhere it’ll get access to the same records he’s been looking through. It’ll find everything important a lot faster than any human will.”

“But the Department of Mysteries is locked down tight,” observed Steve with a frown. “And those guys are searched pretty thoroughly when they go in and out. They’ll find this before he even has a chance to get it where it needs to be.”

Grinning, Tony argued, “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, mon capitaine. See, the beauty of this little baby is that it’s the newest product to be imbued with my not-yet-patented Stark Incognito Charm—Pepper’s already thinking of a better name, don’t look at me like that—which will make it undetectable to Muggle metal detectors, Probity Probes, and pretty much anything else. The only way anyone’s going to find it is if they see it and, well, it doesn’t exactly _look_ like something that could hack millions of files in seconds, am I right?”

That much was very true, which Steve grudgingly admitted. No one was going to look twice at the Dataminer unless they had a penchant for home improvement.

“How many times have you tested it?” Nat skeptically demanded.

Tony actually looked mildly affronted. “I’m going to ignore that question and pose another one: do you think I’d send this off to the Ministry for a test run without being absolutely sure that it was going to work the way it’s supposed to?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll have you know, ye of little faith, that it’s been put through rigorous trials and has come out on top every time.”

“Then how come it’s still _not-yet-patented_?” inquired Clint sarcastically.

“Because it’s funny how nervous people get about something that could be used to find out every government’s dirty secrets without having any chance of detecting it, bird brain,” muttered Tony, ignoring Clint’s one-fingered salute. “Fact of the matter is, if you want to follow that money trail and find out what Minister Moral Issues did to Barnes, that’s the best you’re going to get. And if it works and happens to give me some leverage with the powers that be when it saves someone’s life, well.” He shrugged. “That works too.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but Thor frowned down at the device and slowly asked, “You make things like this here?”

“My dear Norwegian prince, we make _everything_ here. My family’s got deep pockets—it’s practically my civic duty to raid them every once in a while.”

“How did your family even get this rich?” mused Sam, seemingly not expecting an answer. He got one anyway because _Tony Stark_.

“Granddad was a business genius. He made a killing off selling charms during World War II—stuff to protect tanks and make their artillery stronger, you know? His big seller was this one talisman, though,” explained Tony casually, as if this was the kind of history everyone had. “Good stuff. It made a bunch of soldiers on the Allies’ side bigger, stronger, and faster than they were before. Like Cujo over here.” He gestured vaguely towards Steve. “From vicious Chihuahua to massive meathead in no time flat.”

“…I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“As well you should. Anyway, people went nuts for the stuff. I don’t want to say the Starks were a big reason we won the war or anything, buuuuut…”

“But you’re gonna do it anyway,” huffed Clint under his breath. Thor hid his snort behind a cough.

Steve, however, shifted uncomfortably and quickly tried to hide it. Talismans that increased stamina? It wasn’t quite the same as what Bucky had gotten him for his twelfth birthday, but he couldn’t help noticing the similarities. If he’d known that there were talismans that could give you abilities like that when he was a kid, he’d have been begging his mom like crazy to get him one—he could only imagine what people thought about it back then. It was no wonder the Stark name was so huge.

He just hoped they wouldn’t need the kind of heavy artillery the Starks had gotten rich off of to deal with whatever Tony’s device found at the Ministry.

 

***

 

The call came in while Steve was on his lunch break almost a week after they’d given Tony’s device to Jarvis and commenced waiting for results.

“Hey, Ma. Wh—“

“Steve, Bucky’s gone.”

The impact of those words hit him hard enough that he was surprised he didn’t double over. “G-gone…as in…?”

“No!” his mother quickly reassured him. “No, as in _actually gone_. No one can find him.”

Steve sputtered incoherently, not quite sure what to say to that. How did someone who was unconscious just disappear, especially with three people and a viciously protective cat in the room?

“I’ll be right there,” he promised, disconnecting the call and jumping to his feet without bothering to clear away the rest of his food. Whatever had happened to Bucky was apparently catching, because his appetite had vanished too.

“Steve, what is it?” inquired Peggy. She frowned up at him from where she’d frozen with a bite of salad halfway to her mouth.

“Bucky’s missing,” he brusquely explained, already halfway out the door of the little restaurant after throwing what was probably way too much cash on the table for their meal. It was on the opposite end of the city from St. Mungo’s, but once he was away from all the Muggles, he could Apparate straight there and ask whoever the hell was in charge how they fucking _lost_ an unconscious patient.

He didn’t realize Peggy had caught up to him until she asked, “What do you plan to do, skip the rest of work?”

“I don’t know what else you’d expect me to do.”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t,” she remarked primly. “I was just wondering what you wanted me to tell Rollins when he asks where the hell you are. I assume you don’t want him knowing about Bucky since no one else has figured it out just yet.”

That brought Steve up short right in the middle of the sidewalk. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead in thought. So far, they’d managed to keep Bucky’s condition out of the press and the Ministry. The Healers working on his floor were used to sensitive cases and forced nondisclosure, so when his mom had threatened to sue the hospital if they released any information about Bucky, which could potentially tarnish his reputation depending on how people chose to explain what was wrong with him, they hadn’t argued. Apparently none of them wanted to make a quick buck off a story enough to face the wrath of a mother on the prowl—plus two angry Russian surrogate parents who happened to know how to make people disappear. So the last thing Steve wanted to do was alert anyone to the fact that not only was Bucky _sick_ , but now he was _missing_ too—particularly anyone at the Ministry given that that was probably where this began.

Thinking quickly, Steve started walking again and instructed, “Tell him my mom was in an accident and I’m dealing with that.”

“What kind of accident?” prompted Peggy, undoubtedly wanting to make sure they got their stories straight in case Rollins decided to be a royal pain about the whole thing.

“She got hit by a car putting the trash out.”

“And the reason you can still be seen in London rather than Brooklyn?”

That was something he hadn’t thought about. “Uh… Say I’m having her transferred here so I can keep an eye on her without missing out on too much work.”

Nodding, Peggy followed in silence as he slipped into an alley off the beaten track. Steve stepped behind a dumpster and, at the last moment, pecked a kiss to her cheek with a quick word of gratitude before Apparating to St. Mungo’s.

He arrived to find a scene of chaos in Bucky’s room. Healer Temple was there with the _fucking director of the hospital_ , both of whom were trying to calm two angry hellcats that looked about ready to gouge out their eyes if some answers weren’t forthcoming. And that didn’t even count Winter, who was curled up in the middle of the bed in a nest of Bucky’s blankets, mewling and crying softly as if somehow the combination of her distress plus remaining rooted to the spot where Bucky had last been seen would summon him out of thin air. It wasn’t working. And then there was Mikhail, who appeared to be having a silent argument with himself over whether it would be more effective to string the medical professionals up by their toes or dip them in a vat of boiling oil. Steve wasn’t about to give him a chance to figure out which would be better.

Steve stepped forward into the fray, his mother ranting at the director about _incompetence of staff_ and _what kind of facility are you running when patients can just up and vanish_. Tatiana appeared to be doing the same to Healer Temple, although admittedly Steve couldn’t translate enough of the rapid-fire Russian she was screaming in the woman’s face to be sure.

Injecting as much Auror authority into his voice as possible, Steve straightened up to his full (and thankfully impressive) height to demand, “What the hell happened here?”

Mikhail didn’t so much as twitch, but everyone else in the room nearly snapped to attention when they realized he’d joined them. When his mom turned to look at him, he could see that her eyes were swimming with frustrated and incensed tears. The only reason they weren’t falling was because she, impossibly enough, hadn’t quite reached _that_ level of livid just yet. From the looks of things, though, it was only a matter of time.

The director glanced at Healer Temple, who bore a mildly guilty expression as she explained in a tone of forced calm, “Mr. Barnes wasn’t in his room when I came to check on him and administer his afternoon potions. I checked the bathroom, but he wasn’t there either. We’ve informed every floor to keep watch for a man matching his description that might be wandering around or confused, but so far we haven’t heard anything back.”

“How the fuck do you _lose_ a coma patient?” hissed Steve with narrowed eyes. “And how did he just disappear with three people watching him?”

Now it was his mom’s turn to look guilty. “Tatiana and Mikhail went to get us lunch, and I ran upstairs for a cup of tea before they got back. There… There wasn’t anyone here when it happened.” She was whispering by the end, and one of those tears finally fell, either from frustration with the situation or the sadness that now seemed to claim her as her fury ebbed away.

Steve stepped forward to wrap his arms around her, refusing to lose an ounce of forcefulness as he reassured her, “That’s not your fault. You’re allowed to get some tea—there are so-called _professionals_ here who should be aware of where their patients are at all times. So why weren’t you?”

That last part was directed venomously at Healer Temple, whose eyes automatically snapped to the floor. The director, a man in his late fifties who looked like he was more concerned with the potential legal ramifications of this little fiasco than the fact that Bucky was _missing_ , stepped up to the plate this time.

“I can assure you, Auror Rogers, we have nothing but our patients’ best interests at heart,” he reassured Steve in a feeble and oily attempt at pacification. “If he left, a member of the staff would have known it.”

“Now, if _that_ were true, we would not be standing here,” observed Mikhail in a dangerous monotone.

“So what you’re basically saying is that he literally disappeared _from this room_ ,” surmised Steve sarcastically. “I’m guessing you’re about to tell me he woke up after almost _two weeks_ and just got up and Apparated out, right? He’s probably at home, hanging out and watching television.”

“That’s not what I meant,” the director tried to backtrack, realizing his mistake too late. Steve wasn’t in a mood to listen.

“I’m aware of what you meant. Right now, I don’t want to hear any bullshit. My friend is missing, and you had better get your ass on finding him if he’s in this building. If he’s not, then you’d better figure out what happened to him. I don’t think I need to remind you just how deep James Barnes’s pockets are, but it’s more than enough to sue this hospital for reckless disregard for a patient’s safety. I don’t care how you do it or how long it takes. You talk to your staff and you get it done. Do I make myself clear?”

The director stiffened in obvious distaste at being told what he was going to do in his own hospital, not that Steve cared about his opinion by that point, but he appeared to realize a moment before he opened his mouth to argue that it probably wasn’t best to get on the wrong side of someone with a substantial position at the Ministry of Magic. Especially when that someone was thirty years younger and had a hundred pounds of pure muscle on him.

“We’ll do everything we can,” he reluctantly assured them instead, storming out of the room with Healer Temple hurrying after him.

When they were gone, everything was eerily silent but for Winter’s whimpering. Steve made a beeline straight for her, perched on the edge of Bucky’s bed, and willingly relinquished himself to her will as she scrambled up his chest looking for comfort. There wasn’t much he could give, but he held her tightly while she trembled in his arms. It was almost as if she were afraid rather than just missing her human, although Steve couldn’t figure out what she would be so scared of besides Bucky’s sudden disappearance.

Then he glanced at the bedside table and felt his eyes practically pop out of his head: George’s dog tags, Winnie’s wedding ring, and Becca’s ring were still on their chain and had been left behind on the nightstand.

Reaching out, he slowly took the chain in his hand and let the trinkets dangle in front of his face in sudden trepidation. Something was wrong. Whatever had happened, Bucky hadn’t left of his own free will—of that Steve was completely certain.

“Someone had to have been in here,” he murmured, clutching Bucky’s two most valuable possessions tight.

“How do you know?” Tatiana sounded exhausted and a little hoarse from the tirade she’d unleashed on Healer Temple.

“Because I don’t see him leaving without these no matter how out of it he was.” Steve raised his hand to show them the chain, which they’d apparently overlooked in their immediate concern for Bucky’s safety, before continuing, “Either someone came and took him while he was sleeping or he was forced out somehow. Either way, they’re not gonna find him here.”

Exhaling harshly, Sarah collapsed on the bed beside him and stared into the middle distance as though she might be able to find Bucky there if she looked hard enough. “If you’re right…he could be anywhere. We don’t even know where to start.”

“Well,” sighed Steve, stroking Winter’s back as she buried her head in his neck, “that’s not _exactly_ true.”

 

***

 

“What do you mean, the Minister isn’t here?”

“Just what I said,” reiterated Renata for the fourth or fifth time—Steve was beginning to lose track. “He’s. Not. Here.”

“Then where is he?”

Huffing impatiently, Renata glared up at him. “He’s at a summit.”

_For what?_ he decided not to ask. He knew that wouldn’t go anywhere, and technically those sorts of things were played pretty close to the chest if they weren’t openly publicized. Like most politics, it was all or nothing: free to the public or _don’t fucking ask because we can’t tell_.

“When is he going to be back?” demanded Steve. He kept trying to make himself sound a little politer, but the old bag before him was grating on his nerves far too much for that now.

“I’m afraid he didn’t leave a schedule,” she sneered back at him. “I’ll leave him a message that you dropped by.”

Steve _almost_ told her where she could stick that message in an oddly Bucky-like fashion, but he closed his mouth at the last moment. Right now, he would be of no use to anyone if he got in trouble with the Minister’s office. He hated having to pick his battles; unfortunately, this was just one of the times when he would be forced to grin and bear it.

So he nodded sharply and turned on his heel without another word, heading back to the elevators and pressing the button for the Atrium. He wasn’t staying in this damned building another minute until he figured out what happened to Bucky and made whoever had him pay. It wasn’t even about bringing them to justice or the other bullshit he’d vowed to do when he took the oath of his position as Auror. This was bloodlust, pure and simple. People had been hurting Bucky for years—newspaper journalists with their greedy cameras and nasty stories, Bucky’s own mother with her thoughtless campaigning, Hydra with their violence, and now Steve was sure it was someone within the Ministry looking to keep Bucky’s mouth shut once and for all. If he had to tear the world apart and watch it burn to make sure it didn’t have a chance to hurt Bucky again, then people had better get ready for a massive heat wave.

“Steve!”

Biting back the growl of frustration that almost emitted from his mouth, Steve ignored whoever was calling him as he strode across the length of the Atrium to the point where he could Apparate. The person wasn’t letting up, though, and Steve was forced to turn around when they caught hold of his sleeve and yanked.

He was about to snap at them that he didn’t have time for anyone’s crap today when he saw Jarvis, pale and uneasy, standing before him.

“Jarvis? What’s going on?” _I’m getting so tired of fucking asking that today._

Jarvis’s eyes darted this way and that to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. Once he believed they were safe under the din of activity, he softly responded, “I’ve found something. It can’t wait.”

It was all Steve could do not to tell him it _had_ to wait, especially when he was rapidly running out of ideas on how he was going to track down Bucky. If Jarvis had any information on Pierce or what Bucky had been doing at the Ministry, that might at least give him something to go on. They couldn’t exactly speak openly right there in the middle of the Atrium, however, so Steve mumbled for Jarvis to follow him and led the way out through the visitor’s entrance.

On the other side, the street was fairly quiet, so Steve and Jarvis strolled down the sidewalk without speaking until they were a reasonable distance away from the Ministry.

“Tell me you’ve got something good,” Steve murmured just to be safe.

“I should think so,” Jarvis assured him, his expression grim. “I’m not sure that it will tell us who took Bucky, but it’s certainly a step in the right direction.”

Nodding, Steve waited in silence for him to continue. After spending the rest of the previous day hunting for Bucky everywhere he could think of (including their empty apartment despite his previous sarcasm), Steve had called in the cavalry and sent a group text telling their friends what had occurred. With so many people on the lookout and searching through every avenue available, he thought they had the best chance of finding something while he unsuccessfully angled for an audience with Pierce. Hopefully it had paid off.

“The money that was funneled out of the welfare office and into the Department of Mysteries _is_ connected, but whoever deposited it didn’t want to be traced if someone merely glanced over the information to see where it came from. The donations are listed as being from a number of charitable organizations, all of which are run by individuals with close ties to Pierce or his administration, but they were channeled through a series of fictitious accounts before reaching that point.”

“How many accounts?” inquired Steve with a plummeting sensation in his gut.

“They span at least twelve countries that I’ve seen, although the Dataminer may find others.”

Steve cursed under his breath. “Why would they need to send that money through those accounts, though? Why couldn’t they just push it directly from one account to the other?”

“They would be required to justify in writing the necessity to reallocate those funds. I can’t imagine the Minister would be eager to tell his constituents that he was stealing money from children in need to put it into _research_.”

Humming in agreement, Steve clarified, “So he could _say_ they spent the money on the kids, but it was really just being put through a bunch of other accounts so anybody who wasn’t looking closely wouldn’t be able to find it?”

“Precisely. Worse than that—they actually _did_ give the funding to the organizations dealing with child welfare. You’ll remember I told Bucky that many of the children from Belgium were placed under the care of an orphanage operated by one of Pierce’s supporters?”

“Of course.”

“That’s where each withdrawal was sent,” divulged Jarvis, utterly disgusted. “They provided the funding to show that it was used for proper reasons, then the money was sent out through these ghost accounts to be reintegrated into the Ministry where Pierce really wanted it.”

“But we can’t prove that Pierce had anything to do with it,” sighed Steve, rubbing a hand wearily over his face. Sure, there was plenty of circumstantial evidence that pointed to Pierce being involved, especially with so many of his friends being part of this deal. The only people they could confirm connections between, however, were from the organizations donating the money, the housing facility, and the welfare office. Pierce’s hands were still clean no matter how dirty he smelled.

“Not just yet,” admitted Jarvis slowly. His tone sounded far more pleased than it should have; when Steve glanced sidelong at him in curiosity, there was a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We’ve followed the money this far. One of those accounts has to have some connection to him, even if it is simply more of his friends. And I think I know just where to start.”

Steve opened his mouth to ask when Jarvis didn’t continue, but instead he was handed a slip of parchment that had a _lot_ of numbers in tiny print all across it. It took a minute for Steve to decipher that those were amounts of currency—and that it was a hell of a lot more than even Bucky had in the bank. That wasn’t the piece that hit him hardest, though.

That honor went to the name listed at the bottom of what was apparently a deposit slip: FIRST NATIONAL BANK OF WAKANDA.

“Jarvis, how much time off have you taken?”

“Not even a day yet,” he replied, eyebrows furrowed when Steve looked up. “Why?”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Steve told him, “Because I think it’s time you had a vacation. Pack your bags. We’re heading to Wakanda.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep your eyes peeled for a one-shot about how Bucky disappeared in the next few days! I would put it up sooner, but it might spoil a big reveal in a couple of chapters... ;)


	13. Where There's Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been missing an old friend, he's back!

There was one memory Steve wasn't particularly fond of growing up.

He wasn’t sure how old he’d been, probably no more than eight or nine, when he’d started hearing banging noises coming through his bedroom wall from the next brownstone over. At first he’d been startled; he’d never heard noise through the wall before. He’d run into his mom’s room while she’d been putting together her uniform for the next day and told her what he’d heard, but she had simply told him to try to ignore it without appearing too concerned. It was easier than he’d thought since, by the time he made it back to his room, there was no more noise.

The same thing happened every night after that, and every time Steve told his mother about it, she told him it was probably nothing with increasing uncertainty. Back then, he hadn’t known who the people next door were; they had moved in after Bucky’s family moved out, and that was enough reason for Steve not to want to meet them. He’d been satisfied to see that his mom must have thought the same since she was usually the kind of person to introduce herself but didn’t bother going over to greet the new arrivals.

It wasn’t until about two weeks after Steve started hearing the banging that they met their neighbors for the first time, and he’d known something was off about them immediately.

It was a young couple in their late twenties; both of them seemed nice enough. They said they bought the house in preparation for their upcoming wedding the following summer, which he remembered his mom congratulating them on less enthusiastically than most people would. It really wasn’t anything more than a brief, casual conversation between three grown-ups who happened to cross paths—nothing special.

When the couple turned to leave, however, Steve noticed a few things. The first was that the guy was holding his fiancée’s hand in a white-knuckled grip and probably had been the whole time if the cramped state of her fingers was anything to go by. Steve could also just barely catch a hint of darkened skin under the hem of her T-shirt, which had ridden up a bit when the guy moved to put an arm around her. At the time, it hadn’t clicked. After all, he got bruises all the time from playing—or, given his physiology, _breathing_ —so it was probably no big deal.

They just got bigger, though. Steve would glance out the window now and again to see her walking into the house after work, glancing over both shoulders when she did something that shouldn’t be so serious, like dropping the mail or slipping on a patch of ice in the winter. She’d hurry into the brownstone, where the blinds were always closed, and vanish until the next day when the same pattern repeated itself all over again. There was one instance he could still remember as vividly as if it had just happened where she went to get the mail while he was just arriving home from school, and he could see her whole arm covered in mottled black and purple. Her eyes had gone wide when she’d caught him staring and she darted back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

A few months later, she was being pulled out on a stretcher while her fiancé was cuffed and loaded into the back of a police cruiser. They never came back, and Steve never discovered what happened to either of them. He’d never found the courage to tell Bucky that his childhood home had become the scene of a crime.

There was something his mother had said long before that happened, though, the day that he mentioned the bruises. She’d told him that there were people who liked to hurt the ones they claimed to love, whether it was because it made them feel better or they were just mean people, but that sometimes nobody figured it out until it was too late and somebody got hurt.

“Shouldn’t her mom and dad have known?” he’d inquired at the time. He could barely hide a paper cut from his mother let alone injuries on that scale.

Shaking her head, his mom had explained, “A lot of the time, when you’re dealing with someone who wants to hurt you, they’re not going to do it in a way that people will see.”

“Wouldn’t she tell them?”

“Not if she was scared of what he’d do. To her _or_ them.”

Steve had gone on to ask how you could help people in those situations when they wouldn’t or couldn’t go looking for it themselves, and his mom had answered, “The signs will be there if you’re looking hard enough. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Those words floated through Steve’s head as he sat in the living room of their apartment, staring down at the little silver coin that somehow meant nothing yet held all the answers at the same time. _Where there’s smoke, there’s fire._ They had no proof to implicate Pierce in the corruption at the Ministry or what happened to Bucky. The Minister was too clever to be caught red-handed in some kind of scheme, as Bucky had always recognized; everything Pierce touched had probably been wiped clean with other people’s fingerprints put in place for good measure. They’d already discovered layer upon layer of what Tony liked to call _political intrigue_ , ending in nothing but dead ends and more questions. But there were also threads, albeit thin ones, that connected everything together to create a picture that they only needed proof to solidify.

Pierce had spent years blaming crimes on Muggles. Winifred Barnes had the balls to fight him on it and lost her life, along with most of the people she cared about.

Pierce changed the law to remove the Belgium kids from S.H.I.E.L.D. when Bucky wouldn’t hand over information about them that he wanted. Bucky had the balls to wage political warfare against Pierce and played right into a scheme that made him ill until he vanished altogether.

Pierce had promised a deal to S.H.I.E.L.D. that no one in the Ministry knew a thing about. The only paper trail in existence had to do with money that _should_ have gone into the venture and _should_ have helped the kids Pierce stole, but was instead filtered secretly into God only knew what kind of research fund.

Somewhere in the middle of the mess of politics, there was a connection. Where there was smoke, there was fire, and it was getting pretty hot in here.

“Are you sure Wakanda’s the way to go?” his mom blurted out suddenly from where she was making them breakfast in the kitchen.

When he’d told her the situation the night before, she’d adamantly refused to go back to Brooklyn until Bucky was brought home safe and sound. If Steve was going to be hunting all over the place, she’d reasoned when he tried to argue, someone would have to take care of Winter and man the fort. He supposed she had a point about that, especially since Winter was inconsolable in the two days since Bucky’s disappearance. She wouldn’t play with her toys or wander around the apartment; she wouldn’t even come into the kitchen to eat—Steve or his mom had to bring her meals to her where she’d taken up residence on Bucky’s pillow, her face pressed into it so she could get a whiff of his scent with her monkey clutched tightly in her paws. Steve didn’t even feel silly promising her over and over that he would find Bucky and bring him home if it was the last thing he ever did.

Sighing, he rubbed his hands over his face and stood up to trudge wearily into the kitchen. “Right now, it’s the only lead we have. Pierce is neck-deep in this, and whatever he wanted with Bucky at the Ministry has to have something to do with it. Wakanda is the first step in figuring it all out. That’ll lead us to Bucky.”

He edited out the part where he would have added, _hopefully alive._ That sort of thinking wasn’t going to help anyone.

His mother nodded, staring down into the pot of oatmeal she’d managed to make for their waning appetites. “You need to be careful,” she murmured, deliberately refusing to meet his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t lose Bucky again, but I won’t survive losing you too.”

“Ma…” Steve pulled the spoon she’d been using out of her hands, suddenly reminded of the time when their positions had been reversed that first Christmas after Bucky’s family had gone into hiding, and wrapped her in his arms. “I’m gonna bring him home, and we’re both gonna be fine. I promise.”

They were both adults. They both knew it wasn’t a promise he would necessarily be able to keep, but he would do his damnedest to, and that had to be enough for now.

And it was. It was enough as they sat down to eat together before going into Bucky’s bedroom to give Winter her breakfast. It was enough as his mom stroked her furry little head and Steve scratched her back, his eyes never once leaving the dog tags and rings waiting in a place of honor on Bucky’s bedside table for his return. It was enough as he cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on his backpack and stuffed in a few changes of clothes and hygienic items he might need if things took longer than expected. It was enough as he gave his mom a final hug and left to meet Nat and the others at S.H.I.E.L.D. before heading to Wakanda, where T’Challa was already expecting them within the hour.

 

***

 

“Your Minister needs to be executed with his head mounted on a pike for all to see the price of his treachery.”

“Tell us how you _really_ feel,” mumbled Clint with wide eyes as they sat in the middle of T’Challa’s office.

T’Challa didn’t answer him, continuing to stare out of the floor-to-ceiling windows over the jungle that had been almost mesmerizing when they arrived. The news of Bucky’s illness and subsequent disappearance had been hard on him, which Steve surmised had a lot to do with the fact that he lived halfway across the world and wasn’t exactly in a position to help immediately in emergencies, and his temper had flared more than once at Pierce’s multiple acts of injustice over the last few months.

It wasn’t anything new to them, but Steve shared his vehemence despite forcing it not to show on his face. As an Auror, he’d become an expert in maintaining a cool exterior while simultaneously preparing to tear someone to shreds on the inside. From the looks on Nat, Jarvis, Sam, and Clint’s faces around the room, they felt about the same.

They allowed him a minute to compose himself, holding their silence until T’Challa spun back to face them with a heavy sigh.

“Please forgive my outburst,” he requested with a nearly imperceptible wince. “Much of this is my fault, and now to know that my own country is implicated in this mess on top of it…”

“None of this is your fault, T’Challa,” Nat assured him in a low, soothing voice she didn’t usually adopt with people who weren’t Bucky. “This is Pierce’s fault. We just need you to help us prove that.”

“Pierce wasn’t the one who told him he should go to the Ministry and try to find out what the Minister was up to,” rebutted T’Challa with a guilty yet grateful smile. “But I thank you for your kind words. In any case, I’ve sent my best private accountants to this traitor bank to find out what they can about where these funds were routed from before being redirected back to Pierce’s cohorts. I am hoping they will have information for us within a few hours, but I’m sure you can understand that things like this unfortunately take time.”

_Boy, don’t I,_ sighed Steve internally despite the understanding nod he managed on the outside. Waiting appeared to be all they did these days—waiting for the other shoe to drop at the Ministry, waiting for Bucky to lay aside his quest to take Pierce down, waiting for him to wake up, waiting for proof to go after the Minister… It seemed like that’s all they did, and it was beginning to make Steve feel on edge because _his best friend was missing and he should be out doing something, but instead he was sitting here with his head up his ass waiting while everything fell apart._

Not that there was anything to do about it. He couldn’t take that out on T’Challa or the others: his own failures stood stark on the wall without him lashing out. The wait would only serve to harden his resolve to bring Bucky home alive and take down Pierce’s schemes even more.

So they settled in. While the palace in Wakanda was located in their capital city, T’Challa’s main abode was in a facility out in the middle of the jungle. His father tended to handle the daily politics, for which T’Challa had little liking, and he tended to avoid them as much as possible; that left T’Challa time to stay here and work on the mingled scientific and magical development of their country. He’d told Steve once on a visit to Britain that it was less stressful than the political games that must be played in an attempt to please everyone while being unable to please _anyone_ as a result.

The facility itself was impressive. There were numerous laboratories and floors where wizards and Muggles alike worked together to formulate better products that would benefit everyone in Wakanda. Their society, much to Steve’s surprise, was more open than anywhere in Britain, including Bebington now that it had been shut down in the wake of the (alleged) crime spree that had occurred there a couple of years back.

While Sam, Clint, Jarvis, and Nat wandered off to explore with the free rein they’d been granted by T’Challa, Steve hung back. T’Challa appeared to realize there was more to the situation than they’d let on and waited until they were alone to sigh, “I’m sensing you have more to say. Walk with me. Your dark news has already stunk up my office enough.”

Snorting, Steve couldn’t argue with that and followed T’Challa out of his office, down a few corridors, and out through a side door that placed them in a garden full of tropical plants Steve had only seen on television. It was gorgeous, if not quite the place where he would expect to have a serious conversation as he and T’Challa took a seat on a stone bench beside a wide stone fountain. The humidity in the air was somewhat stifling, but Steve supposed that when you grew up in this sort of environment, it didn’t bother you the way it would his Brooklyn sensibilities.

“I always thought Bucky was lucky to have a friend like you,” remarked T’Challa as the silence stretched between them in anticipation for the other shoe Steve had to drop.

“What do you mean?”

Smiling, T’Challa didn’t look at him as he answered, “Of all of us, you were the one who was always there for him when he needed someone. Even when we didn’t know who he was, you were there to defend him. Now it appears that evil has come for him once again, and here you are leading the charge. He is fortunate to have such a friend.”

“He’s fortunate to have such _friends_ ,” amended Steve firmly. “Not very many people who run a country would get involved in something like this. It’s political suicide if anyone finds out and tries to use it against you.”

“But that is the fortunate part of my position. Unlike your Minister, my rule is not based on elections,” T’Challa chuckled. “They are stuck with me whether they like it or not.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, unless they revolt.”

“In which case, I hope you have an extra room in your apartment.”

“We’ll get right on that.”

Snorting delicately, T’Challa shook his head before inquiring, “So what is it you haven’t told me yet?”

Steve reluctantly dug around in his pocket and pulled out the silver coin he’d retrieved from Nat’s safe before they Apparated to Wakanda. “I asked Tony if he had any idea what this might be,” he explained, holding it out to drop in T’Challa’s palm. “He said he’d never seen anything like it before.”

“It is vibranium.” T’Challa frowned, turning the coin over a few times in his hand to analyze each face.

“What’s vibranium?” inquired Steve after racking his brains only to come up blank.

Glancing up at him, T’Challa’s expression smoothed out a bit into something more calculating. “Vibranium is the hardest metal in the world. It is very rare, not something used for everyday items. How did you get this?"

“It was in Bucky’s bag when I found him. It’s been setting off all my Dark Detectors. Is that normal for vibranium?”

“Not at all. Vibranium is just metal, nothing more. A remarkable metal, yes, but it has no dark properties that aren’t put there by someone. And Bucky was carrying it with him?”

“Yeah. It was like Winter could sense it in his bag, but… I mean, other than the noticeable stuff, it hasn’t _done_ anything. We’ve checked for spells and enchantments—everything is negative.” Sighing, Steve shrugged. “If it wasn’t setting off every alarm I’ve got, I wouldn’t think it was weird at all.”

“Well, then, I hate to tell you that it is about to get stranger, my friend.”

Steve groaned, frowning down at the tiny silver bane of his existence. “Tell me.”

Taking another moment to give the coin a last look, T’Challa held it out and returned it to Steve’s palm. “As I said, vibranium is a rare mineral. There are few places in the world where it occurs naturally and can be mined to any substantial degree. The largest of them is Wakanda.”

“So this could have been made here?”

“I would stake my life on it, especially since a tremendous amount was stolen from one of our foremost mining companies last year and was never located.”

Steve cursed under his breath, holding the coin up between them. “If this is part of the stolen batch, that means someone has a hell of a lot more. And if this thing was setting off every detector…”

“It is likely that this is simply a small part of something much bigger,” confirmed T’Challa solemnly, his eyes on the coin. “It may not have any powers in its own right, but whatever was done with the rest very well may.”

“How much was stolen from you?”

“Thirty tons.”

Gaping at him, Steve exclaimed, “How does thirty tons of vibranium just disappear?”

“You could say it was almost like magic,” replied T’Challa dryly. Steve couldn’t help chuckling.

“Okay, fair point. But _why_? What’s so special about vibranium that whoever it was needed _that_ much?”

T’Challa was silent for a minute, obviously deep in thought. Steve didn’t mean to put him on the spot, but given that he would know more about the metal than Steve did, it was best to ask the expert.

“Vibranium is a strange thing,” mused T’Challa, seemingly speaking more to himself than Steve now. “It is the strongest metal, yes, but its potential magical properties have not yet been identified. All I know is that it is not inherently good or bad, but it has many natural elements that provide greater conduction of magical energy than others. It is possible that whoever stole the vibranium had plans to use it in some sort of large-scale spell that required tremendous amounts of energy consumption and conduction.”

“I’ve never heard of a spell like that,” admitted Steve. T’Challa shook his head.

“Nor have I. My assumptions may not even be correct. It’s just a guess on my part.”

“Well, you’re the royal genius, so I’d be willing to bet on your guesses,” teased Steve, only half joking.

“Be careful how loud you say that,” whispered T’Challa with a finger to his lips. “We wouldn’t want to hurt Stark’s feelings.”

Steve couldn’t help chuckling lightly at that before turning his attention back to the coin in his hands. It was still just as cold to the touch as it had always been, but now there was so much more to think about. If such a little thing had the power to make his equipment go haywire and potentially emit enough dark energy to make Bucky sick— _if_ that was even what had happened—what the hell could someone do with over thirty tons of the stuff?

There was a large part of him that really didn’t want to know, but unfortunately he knew from experience that it would be too much to ask for such luck.

 

***

 

It took two days to get an answer back about the fictitious accounts filtering through the First National Bank of Wakanda, but it was well worth the wait in Steve’s opinion.

“It would appear that these accounts were created within the last four years,” explained T’Challa when they’d all congregated in his office once again. He had stacks of papers and folders scattered across his desk; it didn’t appear that he’d slept at all the night before. “Money has been transferred into these accounts for the required twenty-four hour period from countries all over Eastern Europe before being forwarded to the accounts in Britain.”

“Which were then donated to the Department of Mysteries,” concluded Jarvis.

T’Challa nodded. “Correct. Now, my accountants contacted the financiers in Europe regarding where the money came from originally.”

“Won’t that be a little suspicious?” scoffed Nat with narrowed eyes. “If someone’s keeping their eyes on those accounts, we can’t trust that the banks aren’t part of the game.”

“Quite right, which is why I gave them permission to indicate that we are conducting a national audit due to a large influx of fraudulent accounts.”

“Nice.”

“Thank you,” smirked T’Challa, turning back to the papers spread before him. “Now, the banks were able to provide a list of individuals who made contributions to the same accounts your Ministry was funneling massive amounts of money into before it was transferred here and forwarded back to Britain. As you can imagine, the list is extensive, but perhaps you might recognize a few names.”

T’Challa handed Steve a few pages of the _ridiculously enormous_ list, but none of the depositors popped out at him. There was no one from the Ministry involved that he could see; the bubble of hope that he would locate Pierce’s name right there, bold as brass, deflated in defeat. He should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy, but no one could blame him for trying.

When he opened his mouth to say that no one on the list was familiar, Jarvis suddenly snatched the papers away from him to hold them between himself and Nat. Neither of them appeared pleased by what they saw.

“Do you guys recognize anyone?” inquired Sam when they didn’t speak for a long moment.

Jarvis’s face was pale when he looked up at them wordlessly. Nat didn’t look much better but was at least able to find her tongue to say, “This is bad.”

She cleared a spot on the corner of T’Challa’s desk and began pointing out names. “Jasper Sitwell, Grant Ward, Arnim Zola, Daniel Whitehall, Sunil Bakshi, and John Garrett. They’re all professors at Durmstrang, or they were when we were there.”

“Another connection to Pierce,” observed Clint under his breath.

Nat hummed in acknowledgement and turned back to T’Challa. “Were they able to tell you anything else about those accounts?”

“Legally, no. Getting the names of the depositors was already asking a great deal,” denied T’Challa with a frown.

Nat, however, didn’t appear to be put off by that in the slightest. “Do you have a list of the banks they were using?”

T’Challa nodded vaguely, searching through the veritable sea of paperwork before pulling out a memo with the names of more than a dozen banks in numerous countries, some of which Steve hardly recognized. Nat took it from him and glanced over it, putting her finger down on one located in Lithuania.

Smirking, she glanced up at Steve and suggested, “I think you and I should take a field trip.”

 

***

 

The Wizarding bank in Vilnius was a bitch to find, but they managed it after a thorough inspection and a couple of hours. It bore a striking resemblance to Gringotts in many ways, although it was obvious that a very different culture had gone into the creation of this one to match the surrounding community. Steve probably would have thought the building’s old-world style was more beautiful if it weren’t for the recurring reminder that this was where people had gone to deposit their dirty money into something even filthier at the Ministry. It was sobering and forced him to keep his mind on the task at hand rather than gawking the way his eyes desperately wanted to.

Admittedly, there was a lot to focus on. Every pair of eyes that so much as glanced their way set Steve on high alert, wondering whether they knew who he was and were ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Every cough sounded like a shoe scuffing against the stone floor as if someone were about to tackle him from behind, and he had to ignore the instinct to glance over his shoulder at every turn.

There was a certain needlessness to his concern, however, given who he was traveling with. Nat being Nat, they had come in disguise just in case they were recognized from S.H.I.E.L.D. press releases or photos in various newspaper articles. In spite of his unease, Steve hadn’t been positive at first that it was truly necessary; it only took one reminder from Nat that not only were they dealing with people who worked in the shadows, but also that she had the kids at S.H.I.E.L.D. to think about before he was on board (however grudgingly) with the idea. Now that he was here, he was grateful for her suggestion even if it didn’t make him feel as safe as having his wand in hand would.

That wasn’t even mentioning how terrible their disguises were. Nat had straightened and magically colored her hair so that it was brown rather than her natural red; her normal professional attire had been abandoned in favor of a striped jacket, skinny jeans, and wedge high-tops. Steve, on the other hand, hadn’t altered his appearance at all and had to rely on his huge glasses (with fake lenses), baseball cap, hoodie, and jeans to do it for him. He was positive he wouldn’t be fooling anyone if they saw him, but Nat had given him the green light and said it was more the fact that he looked like a college frat boy than anything else that would save him from prying eyes. He resolved to take that as a compliment to his usual style.

Between the discomfort he felt at their situation and the seeming pointlessness of their attire, Steve’s ultimate goal was to get in and out as fast as possible. Nat, however, once again thwarted his plans in that department as well.

“When you’re undercover and trying not to draw attention, don’t run. Walk,” she instructed under her breath as they strode through the lobby in search of an open station.

“If I try to run in these shoes, they’re gonna fall off,” hissed Steve right back, glaring down at the loose-fitting pair of sneakers Nat had chosen for him. He could feel her rolling her eyes despite the way she kept her gaze straight ahead. Never let it be said Natasha Romanoff wasn’t one talented woman.

Nat steered them past the manned counters toward what appeared to be self-service stations. There was a wall of them where people climbed into booths, closed the curtains behind them, and emerged with little bags of gold Galleons that had apparently been taken from their vaults below the bank without them having to go down to retrieve them. Steve made a mental note to mention to some of the Gringotts goblins that that might be a great idea to implement for people like Steve, who would rather never ride those deathtrap carts.

That, of course, reminded him of the way Bucky constantly laughed at him whenever he managed to sucker Steve into going with him to Gringotts to get something out of his vaults. It sent a pang of sadness and anger coursing through him in equal measures, cutting through his anxiety and strengthening his resolve to get this done.

They slipped inside one of the booths, Steve apologizing when he realized he was squishing Nat against the wall, and closed the curtain. The machine, which was oddly reminiscent of something he thought Tony would create, addressed them with a cool, almost realistic voice: “Please state the nature of your business.”

“I’d like to make a deposit,” Nat stated clearly.

There was a moment of silent processing before the terminal requested, “Vault number, please.” Immediately after she rattled off the identification number T’Challa had given her before they left Wakanda, it added, “This vault is password protected. Please provide the proper password to continue.”

Steve and Nat exchanged a slightly panicked glance, at least on his end. He’d heard a number of horror stories about people who gave the incorrect password to a magical device only to end up with missing limbs or singed hair. The last thing he wanted was to find out just how far up shit creek they were going to be if the Lithuanians took security as seriously as the British magical bankers did.

Nat, however, was unruffled as ever as her forehead creased in thought. It only took a minute or two before an answer obviously occurred to her—then her face cleared and, seeing his confusion, she smirked up at him. “Honestly, Rogers, you’re an Auror and _you_ haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Figured out what?” he whispered in perplexed irritation.

They didn’t have a hell of a lot of time to flesh it out to her liking, so she was forced to take pity on him. “What were they worried about that made them close Durmstrang, where all our generous donors worked?”

_It couldn’t be…could it?_ Steve thought, eyes widening slowly as he realized that _yes, it could be._ And it damn well made sense.

Satisfied that he was now on the same wavelength, Nat turned her attention back to the terminal. “Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.”

A pause. “This account accepts only monetary deposits. How much would you like to deposit?”

They didn’t bother answering, canceling the transaction and beating a hasty retreat. It didn’t matter that people were staring as they made their way out the door into the bright sunlight of the street, Apparating as soon as they were able. Let people think what they would. For once, someone had finally fucked up and left more than just guesses and questions along the trail of breadcrumbs.

For once, Steve had everything he needed.

 

***

 

“So, we’re thinking Pierce is Hydra?” clarified Sam from his spot on Steve’s sofa. They had all been given rooms for the duration of their stay in Wakanda, and Steve’s was their unofficial meeting place.

Steve was pacing the length of the room, his mind awhirl with new connections now that he had a brand new frame for the information they’d gathered already. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? The guy hates Muggles and wants us to cut all ties with them, which is exactly what got Bucky’s mom in trouble with Hydra. Pierce becomes Minister, and all of a sudden Hydra’s able to find out where Bucky’s family is hiding when they’d been safe for _years_ before that? In sixth year, remember all those times someone tried to kill Bucky? No one went after him until he refused to play Pierce’s game, then the assassination attempts wouldn’t stop. Anytime he gets on the wrong side of Pierce or Hydra or anyone, bad things happen.”

“And even if we can’t prove that _Pierce_ is part of Hydra,” pointed out Nat, “we _can_ prove that the teachers at Durmstrang are.”

“Can you imagine the shitstorm that’s going to unleash?” When they just looked at Sam, he rolled his eyes. “They said the school was clean, right? They reopened it. If those teachers are all involved with Hydra and were recruiting students, someone had to give them a pass to get that school opened back up again unless they _really_ didn’t find _anything_.”

“Or they didn’t want to,” agreed Steve, scowling.

“There is one thing I don’t believe we’ve considered,” Jarvis spoke up. He’d been unusually quiet throughout the entire conversation, and his uncomfortable expression hadn’t eased once. “The Minister was the one who prompted the closure of Durmstrang until they could prove there were no connections between it and Hydra.”

“What else was he going to do? Ignore it and tell everyone the Muggles did it again?” snorted Clint, shaking his head. “He had to save face, that’s all that was. He was probably telling the teachers behind the scenes not to do anything stupid and fuck it up with everyone watching.”

“Fair point. This doesn’t help us get any closer to what Pierce has to do with Bucky’s disappearance, however. Not without more information, which won’t be forthcoming except straight from the horse’s mouth. And no one has ever been able to find any Hydra operatives to interrogate.”

“Not true,” mused Steve thoughtfully. “Fisk and Castle, the guys who killed Bucky’s family. They got caught.”

“And killed,” Nat added.

“So obviously they weren’t important enough to keep around once they were convicted. If _these_ guys are connected to Pierce,” Steve pointed to the list they’d gotten the professors’ names from, “then what we need to be doing is thinking of how we’re going to get our hands on one of _them_.”

Nat frowned skeptically. “Even if we get them to talk, it’s not going to hold up in front of the Wizengamot. It’ll be their word against Pierce’s.”

Shaking his head, Steve argued, “Right now, I think Jarvis has a point—our priority needs to be Bucky. If Hydra’s as tied in with the Ministry as it seems, then they wanted him there for a reason, and that’s why Pierce tried to make that deal in the first place. We need to get him back and figure out what was going on at the Ministry that he couldn’t tell us.”

Personally, Steve was beginning to think that Bucky was the key to the entire thing. What he’d been doing at the Ministry, his disappearance, the fact that apparently Hydra had their tentacles at the very top of the Ministry of Magic and were trying to use it to do _something_ … Somehow he was sure that if they could just figure out how Bucky fit into that equation, most of their questions would be answered. Of course, that wouldn’t solve the problem of what they were going to do about putting Hydra down for good once they got that far, but one thing at a time.

_Bucky first, then we’ll crush Hydra into the dirt._

“So, kidnap a Hydra agent, interrogate them for information, find Bucky, possibly tear down the Ministry of Magic as we know it…” summarized Clint, trailing off with a grin. “I’m game. Who’re we starting with?”

“No one,” interjected T’Challa, who had arrived sometime during their conversation and was standing in the doorway with a grim expression on his face. “I took the liberty of locating them while you were gone. Unless you have a way to commune with the deceased, I’m afraid we’ve reached another dead end.”

“Dead?” blurted out Steve, his mouth hanging open as a murderous, venomous rage began to spread from the center of his chest out towards the tips of his fingers. “What the fuck do you mean? They’re _all_ dead?”

“All but one,” confirmed T’Challa. “Arnim Zola is the only one still alive, but there are no records of his residence. He left Durmstrang almost a year ago and has not returned.”

“Did you see what the others died of?” inquired Nat to give Steve a chance to cool off—not that there was enough time in the world for that.

Nodding slowly, T’Challa took a seat beside Sam and answered with meaningful emphasis, “ _Heart attacks_.”

“All four of them?” Sam demanded, his tone a mixture of disbelief and suspicion.

“I thought it was strange as well. Apparently none of them had preexisting conditions. They just…dropped dead. Literally.”

“Like the Belgium kids,” observed Clint quietly. He and Sam shared a glance.

“The Ministry said the kids were dying because of what they went through in those experiments,” mused Sam with deliberate care. “Experiments that Hydra was involved with. Now their guys are dying of the same thing, except this Zola dude. Something doesn’t add up here.”

“So we talk to Zola,” suggested Clint, only for Nat to snort derisively.

“What are we going to do? Knock on all the doors in Europe where we think he _might_ be staying until we find him?”

“Why not?”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to Steve, who was oddly calm under their combined incredulous gazes. It didn’t deter him, though, not one bit. If there was only one person alive who could possibly give them what they needed, then he would track him down with every ounce of energy he had left. It was his job as an Auror; it was his duty as a friend and a brother.

So he stared right back at his friends and told them, “That’s exactly what we’re gonna do.”


	14. Two Heads

“You want to know about the legend of the Hydra?” inquired Thor with a puzzled frown.

“Anything you can tell us,” confirmed Steve resolutely.

Thor sat back in his chair, surveying Steve and the others carefully. He and Wanda had been left in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D. while they were gone and Bucky was missing, which was no mean feat when he also had the responsibility of teaching his mythology classes on top of it. That, however, was exactly why he was the person to speak with if they wanted any chance at determining where Zola was hiding. Steve had been the one to think of it, and Nat agreed immediately when he posed the idea: Harry Osborn had dreamed of people saying _cut off one head, two more shall take its place_. It was obvious, then, that Hydra was no stranger to mythology and actually _encouraged_ their members to consider it the basis for their weird little cult. So how did you catch a beast? By finding its lair.

And if anyone would know where that was, it would be Thor.

“The Lernaean Hydra is a beast of legend which Hercules was said to have battled in his second labor as penance,” began Thor. He paused for a minute to grab a book from his classroom bookshelf, flipping to a page before showing them what was obviously an ancient Greek artistic work depicting Hercules and his adversary. “The Hydra was a nine-headed monster that was impossible to kill because one of its heads was immortal. The other eight, when severed, were said to be replaced by two more.”

“Just like these assholes,” muttered Clint. Thor nodded in affirmation.

“Precisely. Now, the legend says that Hercules _bashed_ their heads, which I believe we can assume means they were severed in some way. Hercules had no chance of defeating the Hydra until he and his cousin, Iolaus, realized that cauterizing the wound they created would keep more heads from growing to replace the ones that were lost. That left the creature with only the immortal head, which Hercules cut off and buried beside a road.”

“Wait,” Sam interrupted with a puzzled expression, “so you’re saying he didn’t _actually_ kill it?”

Thor shook his head. “Such a thing was impossible. There was no removing the immortality of the remaining head, and therefore he could not entirely kill the beast. He placed a rock over the burial place so that no one would go near and the monster would not be able to get out.”

 _Not exactly the best way to do it,_ mused Steve without saying so aloud. He didn’t want to start a theological discussion right now, not when there were more important things to deal with.

“Do you know where Hercules found the Hydra?” he asked instead, glancing pointedly down at the book.

“He accosted it in its lair in what was then known then as Lerna. Today…” He trailed off, retrieving an atlas this time and flipping to a map of the southern side of the European continent. “Today, the closest town would be Kiveri. Very small, much like the original village.”

“Sounds like the kind of place a mad scientist might go to avoid getting caught,” Nat pointed out, quirking an eyebrow.

“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Steve. He pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against, already making a beeline for the door. “Let’s get a move on.”

“Wait, Steve.”

Turning back, he raised his eyebrows impatiently as Thor frowned at his abrupt departure. It was all he could do not to snap that they didn’t have time to sit around talking about this. Zola was the last one left who could give them any answers—and that was only _if_ they could find him. The last thing they needed was to get there only to find that they were too late. Then they would be back to the drawing board, which didn’t bode well for Bucky, wherever he was.

Thor took a deep breath and calmly told him, “My place for now is here to protect the children in this facility. Otherwise, I would go with you. Be warned: if Hydra _has_ been using ancient myths as the basis for their plans all this time, you may find more than you are bargaining for in going to Kiveri this way. It would be best to bring as many as you can and enter the area from a position of strength.”

He had a good point, but Steve still shook his head. “If we take too many people, it’ll be harder to get in without anyone noticing. I’m not saying I’m going alone,” he cut Thor off when he opened his mouth to argue, “but I’m not taking an army with me either. I think the four of us can handle it.”

“Nat could probably get it done by herself,” mused Clint with a wry smirk.

“Please,” Nat scoffed as she moved toward the door, “I’m always happy to let you boys tag along.”

 

***

 

Kiveri was a gorgeous location, all things considered. When they arrived, the sun was shining and the summer air was warm, not too hot like it frequently was back in New York at the same time of year. The village around them was obviously just a small settlement on the beach. Despite its size, there was a resort with immediate ocean access so that tourists wouldn’t have to endure the terror of exercise just to get to the waterfront. From the appearance of things, most of the houses were built the same way—in old-world Mediterranean styles with a breathtaking view of the ocean. On any other occasion, Steve would have wanted to stop and take a look or capture the scene in his sketchbook. He would sit for hours in the _sane_ environment and just copy the way the sun sparkled on the waves, or how there were kids trying (and failing) to build a sandcastle with help from their enormous dog. He would dedicate to memory the way the world seemed so peaceful here despite the shouting and laughing of people in the background, thinking back to childhood summers spent at Rockaway Beach buying ice cream and watching the tide roll in.

But it wasn’t that sort of occasion, and Steve had to keep his head clear of any frivolous things like days on the beach. There would be time for that later, once Hydra was a thing of the past (for good this time) and everyone was back where they were supposed to be. There _had_ to be time for that.

So he turned his head away from the scene as they Apparated onto a small residential street mere yards away from the beach. Unlike the clouds they’d left behind in Crawley, the sunlight forced them to shield their eyes as they acclimated to the new conditions.

“All right, we’re here,” pointed out Sam, glancing in every direction. “Now where are we supposed to start looking for this guy?”

“If he’s even here,” added Clint with a longing look at the water. Clint had never been much of a beach person if it meant having to take the initiative to plan the trip himself, but once they were there, he was game. They’d found that out the fun way on a trip to Brighton the summer after they’d graduated. (Peggy had been appalled at his reluctance to put together even something as small as a day trip, which had culminated in rather entertaining results.)

“Well, the Hydra was supposed to be in some kind of cave, right?” Steve shrugged, glaring down toward the coast. “I’m guessing that would be as good a place as any to start.”

Nat shook her head. “Don’t be so sure about that. People love exploring caves—they’re idiots that way. Hydra would have to know they’d come walking up to their front door.”

“True…” Steve huffed a sigh of frustration, trying to think of what else might be appealing around here to a bunch of crazy cultists trying to party like it was before the Common Era. It wouldn’t be entirely unheard of for Muggles to vanish and either never be found or worse at the hands of Hydra, but he hadn’t seen much about that in recent years. That didn’t mean it wasn’t happening; he just thought it was likely that they were laying low on that front. They were anti-Muggle enough without needing to draw attention to themselves that way, and if Pierce was really one of them, he was doing a good enough job turning the Wizarding community against Muggles without having to resort to violence against them. Wouldn’t it garner sympathy to see that Muggles were getting hurt just as often as members of the magical community?

_Wouldn’t want that, now would we?_

He was about to suggest that they split up to cover more ground and report back with anything potentially suspicious when a sharp pain jabbed into his thigh. Yelping, more in surprise than from the sting of it, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the silver coin he’d taken to carrying around again as if it might hold some answers he couldn’t possibly fathom. T’Challa’s estimations aside, Steve had also been of a mind that if the coin was part of a larger whole, there would be more to it than met the eye. To this point, there had been no sign that they were correct in their assumptions.

Now, however, Steve instinctively knew they were on the right track. The metal was no longer icy against his skin; instead it was warm, more than it should have been from where it had soaked up his body heat from his pocket (not that it had ever done that before regardless). He saw Sam open his mouth to ask what was wrong when he felt that same stab, this time in his palm. He was able to identify it now: it was like the coin was setting off tiny electric shocks, the same way it usually did when he first touched it. Now it was happening regularly—it got him a third time as he gaped down at it.

“Something’s here,” he murmured, repeating it louder for the others when they didn’t appear to have heard him over the crashing waves in the distance. “It’s reacting to _something_.”

“So we use it like a metal detector,” suggested Sam. “The more it beeps…”

“The closer we’re getting,” concluded Steve, already heading off in the direction of the beach where he’d thought they might have some luck with the caves.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible to someone who wasn’t desperately attuned to any possible changes, but the metal cooled just slightly in his palm. Turning around, he smiled sheepishly in the face of Nat’s _Hope You Don’t Mind Me Saying I Told You So_ look.

They turned back toward the main part of the village and followed the line of the houses; the coin heated right back up the further they got from where they’d landed. Steve thought he probably looked like an idiot, holding what would have looked like a smoothed-out nickel to anyone else as though it were the key to the universe, but he hardly cared about that right now. All he was worried about was how the metal gradually increased in temperature and frequency of static charges the further they traveled into the town. The houses didn’t seem to have a rhyme or reason to them, although he figured that they weren’t built with the same grid system they had in New York, so they wandered down alleys and through streets on their way across the village.

They emerged onto a road that ran straight between a rocky hillside and the ocean, curving along the outer edge of the village so that only one line of homes stood between them and the water. Most of them were enormous; Steve considered them mansions, but from the looks of things, they didn’t appear to be much different from the rest of the homes in Kiveri. The fact that they were built right on top of the ocean, however, would say enough to him about the affordability of such a thing, especially on an Auror’s salary.

There was one spot he thought he’d be able to afford, and it was ironically the one that caught his eye as seeming… _off_. It was tiny compared with the rest of the homes surrounding it, perhaps half the size if not smaller where it stood overlooking the ocean. Well, _stood_ was probably an optimistic term—it was aged and drooping more than anything else. Steve thought it was a wonder that it was still standing given that a storm could probably blow it down without much difficulty.

It was incongruous, and Steve didn’t need to feel the way the coin cooled marginally in his fist as they passed it to know that that was what they were looking for.

“It’s that one,” he whispered to Clint, who was closest to him while Nat and Sam trailed behind. Neither of them glanced back, not wanting to alert anyone to their awareness of its presence if the area was under surveillance. Steve didn’t have that feeling he usually did in such scenarios, where the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end as his brain immediately ran through possibilities— _is it a suspect, are they armed, do they mean me harm, do they mean someone else harm, how do I defuse the situation without casualties…_ The list went on and on, as was to be expected when you were trained to be ready for any eventuality in his line of work.

So they didn’t make it obvious. Clint, surprisingly apt when it truly mattered, pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen. Frowning, he smacked it against his palm a few times and stopped short, muttering, “Aw man, not again.”

“What is it?” sighed Sam with an amused expression. He and Nat obviously hadn’t heard them, although the latter was holding herself more stiffly than usual, so Steve knew she was already aware something was up.

“Phone’s not working,” lied Clint, holding his phone up to show them full bars. “Had a signal a minute ago. Probably something around here screwing with it.”

Sam caught on and nodded slowly, wisely not glancing around them. “Maybe if we get closer to the water, that might help?”

“It’s worth a shot,” shrugged Steve. He led the way further down the street in the opposite direction of the house, his vindication growing with every step and every lost degree in the coin as they found a spot where they could slip between two houses and take the stairs down to the beach.

From where they stood, they could see the back of the house, which was just as unimpressive as the front. There was one thing, however, that stood out to Steve more than anything else: there were no footprints on the sand anywhere near it. Every other house looked out over sand disturbed by boats, toys, footprints, and shrubbery—not this place, though. The beach was obviously untouched. Who the hell would live right on the water, probably spending a fortune even for such a small, ramshackle building, only to neglect the beach?

_People who have no reason to use it._

“You think it’s that one?” murmured Sam when they’d all gotten a good look. Steve nodded resolutely.

“Everything points to it. It’s not exactly a place anyone would look twice at, especially when they’re hunting down an international terrorist organization.”

“That or the place is abandoned and it’ll fall down on us the second we go in there.”

Humming in agreement, Nat reached into the inside pocket of her leather jacket (how she wore that in the middle of the summer, Steve would never know) to retrieve her wand. “I’d say we may as well take a look. Unless you’re scared, Wilson.”

Sam scoffed, following her lead and drawing his wand along with Steve and Clint. He didn’t deign to dignify that with a response, but it was obvious as they crept down the beach as inconspicuously as possible that he would have flipped her off if they weren’t all on high alert. Like everything else they were putting off, there would be time for _that_ later, too.

When they got close enough to take a better look at the structure, they could see that plywood had been nailed over the rear doors and windows so that they couldn’t peek inside. In fact, there was no exit on this end. Steve silently berated himself for not paying closer attention to whether the front was the same way, but there was nothing for it now. If they had to break in, so be it.

He was just checking to make sure no one was nearby to witness their crime when Nat pointed her wand at the wall of sand before them, upon which the house was precariously balanced, and whispered, “ _Bombarda Maxima_.”

Clint cried out, “ _Silencio!_ ” when the hill exploded out at them in a puff of sand. The sound of the eruption was eerily muted, although it didn’t stop them from getting covered head to toe in gritty sand as it was dumped over their heads. Once Steve had cleared it from his eyes and straightened from the crouch he’d fallen into to protect himself from the brunt of the force, his eyes darted all around the beach to make sure no one had seen or heard what Nat had done. There weren’t any prying eyes on the street, in the windows of the neighboring homes, or along the beach—for right now, at least, they were okay.

He didn’t get a chance to ask Nat what the hell she thought she was doing, though: the enormous tunnel she’d revealed in the side of the hill rendered him speechless. “Son of a bitch,” he eventually breathed, eyes wide as he gawped into the darkened abyss.

“Ooh, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” rebuked Nat innocently. She placed a teasing finger under his chin to push his mouth closed before leading the way forward. “Come on, boys. Just because you couldn’t hear that out here doesn’t mean whoever’s inside didn’t.”

As he followed her inside, Steve couldn’t help pondering for the millionth time how the fuck Bucky could stand to be around Nat for any sizable length of time without fearing for his life on multiple levels.

The tunnel was not quite wide enough for the four of them to walk abreast, so Nat and Steve took point while Clint and Sam watched their six. There weren’t any lights along the walls, which made it necessary for them to ignite the tips of their wands, but there was still nothing to see. It felt like walking into a tin can that had fallen over: the metal curved over them as it led deeper into the side of the hill, windowless and dim. Although the floor had been covered in a fine layer of sand when they entered, it dispersed gradually as they pressed on until there was nothing but concrete beneath their feet. All four of them stopped to silence their footsteps when they were no longer muted by the elements.

None of them dared to speak. There was no telling how far this tunnel led, but it was obvious their voices would travel right down it if they bounced along the metal walls.

Steve began to realize that as uneasy as he’d felt going into the Cinema-Theatre Varia, this was infinitely worse. Daylight disappeared behind them soon after they continued quietly on their way, leaving them in an empty void without the surety that there would even be anything waiting for them at the other end. Compared to the abandoned theatre, the creepy staircase, and the horrific scene they’d found at the bottom, he would take that any day over wandering through the uncertainty of the dark that settled all around them.

It took ten minutes before the sensation grew exponentially with the glimmer of blue light far ahead of them. In his fist, the coin was growing so hot that he wasn’t sure he would be able to hold it much longer. As they approached the illumination and emerged from the tunnel into a much larger space, Steve was positive he knew why.

The bunker was a dome-shaped structure that mirrored the rocky hills over top of it, metal panels reaching far enough above them that he almost couldn’t see the zenith. Blue light radiated out from some epicenter that Steve couldn’t identify, giving the room a strange, otherworldly glow. Between them and the opposite side of the room, which had to be the same length as a football field, were all manner of strange devices. Some things were recognizable: metal slabs, IV stands, trays of syringes, and other obvious medical equipment. Others, however, were so odd that Steve could only assume they must be meant for some nefarious purpose, not least of which being a chair set in a slight depression right at the center of the room. It didn’t look very different from a dentist’s chair, only there was some sort of apparatus attached that held a headpiece in place, obviously rotating downward over the occupant’s head—to do what, Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

And along the circular walls were innumerable crates of silver coins identical to the one that Steve had to stuff in his pocket to avoid the heat scorching his skin.

“What the hell is this place?” breathed Sam, his eyebrows raised high on his face. Although his voice hadn’t carried the way it would have in the tunnel, he still received an answer.

“The headquarters of the new world order,” explained a voice thick with a German accent.

Wands at the ready, all four of them wheeled around to see a squat man with round glasses standing by the wall where they’d come in. He was wearing a blue lab coat and looked every bit the part of a stereotypical Muggle high school science teacher rather than who Steve assumed was—

“Arnim Zola?”

“Correct, Auror Rogers,” confirmed Zola, tucking his hands behind his back and striding forward into the room. He didn’t have a wand that Steve could see, but that was no reason to let their guard down—not when it could change at any moment. “I admit, I was wondering when you would arrive here. You are slower than I expected.”

“You knew we were coming?”

“Of course. You made no secret of it. I’ve been here waiting for you all this time.”

Narrowing his eyes, Steve ignored what was obviously meant to distract from the true nature of their visit and got right to the point. “Where is James Barnes?”

Zola raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I would know this?”

“Don’t play stupid,” warned Sam, tightening his grip infinitesimally on his wand. “You knew we were coming, so you damn well know why. Now where is he?”

There was a minute in which it seemed like Zola would perpetuate the farce, but then his expression softened into a superior smirk before he turned his back on them to stroll casually towards the center of the room.

“I’m afraid I do not have an answer for you,” he drawled, waving a hand flippantly. “Not that it shall matter much. The new order is about to arise, and then the world will be cleansed of such abominations as Barnes and yourselves. Perhaps your final hours would have been better spent more productively than hunting me down here.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that,” Clint observed slowly, his voice hard with contempt. “What do you mean, _new world order_?”

Shrugging, Zola turned back to them and replied, “Precisely what I said. This world has become the breeding ground for all manner of filth that should never have survived to see this day. Do you not see that our kind is threatened by those who would stand in our way—those who would see us hide who we are for _fear_ of what that is?”

“We get it. You don’t like Muggles. Get to the point.”

Zola’s smirk was more snide than superior now. “Do you think Muggles are fit to share this earth with us? They cannot share their _neighborhoods_ , much less the world. They have been left to wander freely as wizards have sheltered them from the knowledge of our existence. This freedom has made them arrogant, and they now threaten our very way of life. Hydra was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist.”

“Go figure,” muttered Clint. Zola ignored him.

“Not only Muggles, but our own kind. People like your friend’s mother, a disgrace to our world who thought that Muggles could be _better_ than they are. She poisoned the minds of the innocent to believe that Muggles could roam free without consequences. She is but one of many who have tried to convince people of this for so long. But Hydra has been here longer than even the magical community itself—and we prevail again and again.”

Steve shook his head in disgust. “You killed her so you could remake the world the way you wanted it.”

“Muggles and those who sympathize with them are not destined to last in this world, nor have they ever been,” declared Zola with a shrug. “History has shown us that this is the case.”

“And when it didn’t? When people did things that proved your theory wrong and survived anyway?”

“It is much like with an unruly child, Auror Rogers. When history did not cooperate, history was changed.”

Every article the _Daily Prophet_ had printed about Muggle crimes against wizards—murdered families, disappearing children, inhumane experiments, _everything_ —it all fit. When nothing seemed to make sense, when it was really Hydra pulling the strings and killing their own kind, the history was changed to tell a different story.

_But why?_

“That’s impossible,” said Nat, her face set in grim disbelief. “Someone would have stopped you.”

“Someone like your Undersecretary Barnes? Or her son?” Zola snorted derisively. “You forget: accidents happen. The world has become so chaotic that enough of the Wizarding community is finally ready to sacrifice the freedom of their Muggle pets to gain their own security. Those who aren’t will not need to concern themselves with the decision for much longer. Once the purification process is complete, Hydra’s new world order will arise.”

“How?” demanded Steve, storming through the bunker with his friends on his heels. Zola didn’t even flinch as Steve approached and towered over him. It was all he could do not to wipe the smug smirk off the pathetic fool’s face—they needed answers more than he needed the release of kicking a true bully’s ass.

“Have you not been listening, Auror Rogers? Surely you must know by now.” When Steve continued to glare down at him, Zola tutted. “When you cut off one head, two more shall take its place.”

“Is that crazy-speak for _we’re making a new Hydra monster_?” From Clint’s tone, it sounded like he was hovering at the edge of violence as well.

His question made Zola burst out laughing, clutching at his chest as he doubled over in mirth. Unable to help himself, Steve grabbed him by his arms, hoisted him up, and slammed him back into the strange chair he’d been standing next to. “Answer the question,” he growled low in his throat.

Suddenly, Zola wasn’t laughing anymore, although he looked no less amused. “There is no need for a _new_ Hydra when the old one is in perfect condition.”

Steve blinked once. Twice. “You’re saying you plan on unleashing a monster from a _myth_.”

“I’m saying we already have.”

Zola’s eyes twitched to the side, and Steve followed his gaze to a shelf built into the wall above a stack of crates. Seeing his pointed nod, Sam hurried over to grab the pile of documents and other things Steve couldn’t make out from this distance. His eyes blew wide the moment he spotted what was on top. Steve understood exactly why when he held up a framed photograph of Johann Schmidt.

It wasn’t the same one they printed in the _Daily Prophet_ when he went missing. This one looked much older, although Schmidt hadn’t aged a day between the time it was taken and when Steve had first seen his face. It didn’t make any sense, though, particularly when Steve spotted the Nazi armband around his bicep and the lightning bolts of the S.S. on his lapels.

“It’s gotta be a relative…” Sam trailed off, glancing helplessly up at Steve.

“What the hell is this?” demanded Steve as he turned his attention to Zola, who hadn’t moved an inch all the while.

He was quite calm as he replied, “The Hydra.”

“The Hydra is a myth,” reiterated Nat. She stepped forward, gripped his hair in an iron fist, and yanked his head back. “Now answer the question.”

For the first time, there was a tiny spark of fear in Zola’s eyes and a bit of his bravado had been scratched away by Nat’s methods. “As I said, it is the Hydra. Johann Schmidt was not just a professor. He was not just a wizard and not just a _man_. He was a _legend_.”

“You say _was_ as if he’s not around anymore,” mused Steve, “but nobody knows what happened to him.”

“Oh, but they do.” Zola’s smirk was back despite Nat’s continued grip on his hair. “One man vanishes while another appears, _unidentifiable_? I should think it was obvious.”

Steve was about to call him on his bullshit again when something occurred to him within the riddle Zola had posed: there had only been one case in his memory, including all the crimes he’d investigated as an Auror, where a body was destroyed beyond the point of identification. There was only one situation where someone appeared who never should have been there at all while another vanished, seemingly without a trace.

“He was the fourth person in the house,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. Zola sneered up at him wordlessly, letting that sink in—letting Steve process the fact that the person who had been killed and buried in Bucky’s place was, of all people, _Schmidt_. “But…how?”

“As I said: history was changed.”

“You _also_ said the guy was the actual Hydra.” Clint, who had gone to look through the collection of photographs and articles with Sam, glared up at Zola from where they stood by one of the metal slabs. “If that were true, the guy wouldn’t be dead.”

Scoffing, Zola retorted, “Your argument is preposterous.”

Clint took a step towards them. “What makes you think we’re gonna believe so—“

“Because he could _do it_!” blurted out Zola, finally getting as angry as he was making them.

 _Good,_ Steve thought viciously. _Let him get pissed._

“The Hydra was never killed, _could not be killed by any man or god_. It was left to rot in the ground, but it persevered. Eventually it was set free by the same witches and wizards who became the first members of our organization. The Hydra changed forms to accommodate, to hide itself among humans and seek to supplant those who would cheer its defeat as a gift from ancient gods. It was the only way to keep them from discovering that it was _weak_. Despite its immortality, the Hydra could not possess the same power it once had without an offering of energy and magic in return. So it lived as Johann Schmidt for these thousands of years until— _finally_ —it had enough to regenerate its greatness. Disgraces like your precious _Barneses_ ,” he spat the word as if it hurt to say, “were sacrificed to the cause. Their power, their energy was fed to his will. The Hydra made the ultimate sacrifice—its immortality for the chance to recreate itself and purify the world the way it ought to have been millennia ago.”

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place,” murmured Nat under her breath, her eyes going wide in realization. “He destroyed himself to pass on his power to two other people.”

_Which means they can use the energy they stored in the coins…_

“Where are the two new heads?” Steve shook Zola hard when the latter just smiled up at him. “Who are they?!”

“The answer to your question is fascinating.” Zola’s smile widened as he continued, “Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the ground beneath them shook with a mighty rumble. Steve lost his grip on Zola’s lapel, grabbing onto the chair to steady himself as the earth trembled once again. When he glanced back to ask what the hell was happening, Zola was gone.

“We’ve gotta get out of here!” shouted Sam over the thunderous noise that echoed all around them. He and Clint made their way over, but when Steve tried to Apparate, it was like repeatedly running into a brick wall.

“There are wards,” he growled, glancing around the room. There were cracks beginning to crawl up the sides of the dome. When they reached the top… “They’re trying to bury us.”

“Like the pharaohs of old,” snorted Clint, whipping his wand back out from where he’d stashed it earlier. He pointed it straight up at the apex of the dome and yelled over the clamoring of equipment, “You guys better cast one hell of a Shield Charm!”

Nodding, Steve slung his arms around Nat and Sam, drawing them close before raising his own wand above them. With more concentration than he ever thought he’d used before, he closed his eyes and repeatedly muttered the incantation, “ _Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum. Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum. Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum._ ”

Nat shuddered beside him. Sam crouched down lower. Clint shouted something. The world turned to fire and chaos around them.

“ _Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum. Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimcum. Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum. Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum…_ ”

 

***

 

The ice pressed against his eye stung terribly, but Steve didn’t bother complaining about it as his mother huffed, “I could have sworn you promised to come back in one piece, Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Didn’t say that piece wouldn’t be kinda dinged up,” he mumbled, glad he was too sore for her to swat him in the back of the head the way she’d done every time he talked back to her for as long as he could remember.

“Kind of?” Sarah scoffed. “Yeah, that’s one way to say it.”

All in all, Steve thought they’d come out of Kiveri in pretty good shape. Okay, so they had gotten hit by a few smaller pieces of debris from the hole Clint had blown in the roof despite Steve’s (more than adequate) Shield Charm, and now there was a giant crater on the outskirts of the village that would need explaining, and Zola had gotten away—but overall, things had gone rather well.

_If you don’t count the fact that there are now two incredibly dangerous dark wizards on the prowl somewhere waiting to kill us all._

Yeah, there was that.

“If it weren’t for Steve, things would have been a lot worse,” reasoned Sam, wincing as he pressed his own ice pack to a bruise on his shoulder.

“Gee, thanks,” Clint snorted without conviction.

“And Clint.”

He got the finger in reply.

His mom hummed noncommittally, obviously still displeased with the fact that any of them had gotten hurt at all, but she didn’t mention it again. “So, did you find what you were looking for?”

“Sort of,” Steve sighed. He rubbed a hand over the part of his face that wasn’t currently either sore or burning. “I think I know what they planned to use Bucky for, but Zola didn’t say where he is.”

“Wait, rewind,” Clint interrupted with a raised hand. “What was he doing to Bucky?”

“You heard what he said about the Hydra needing energy in order to split into two heads?” Clint nodded. “Well, think about it—Schmidt killed his parents to for it, and Bucky was sick for _weeks_ with all that time he was spending at the Ministry. If Pierce is one of the two new heads…or whatever…”

“If the heads are still keeping human form instead of changing into whatever disgusting piece of shit it was thousands of years ago,” pointed out Nat with a shrug. “Although, it does make sense. It just doesn’t explain why they needed to _take_ him.”

The thought that went through Steve’s head didn’t bear considering, but no matter how much he didn’t _want_ it to be true, there came a time when they had to face facts. So, glancing apologetically at his mom, he asked, “What if they did it to finish what they started and take whatever he had left?”

Nat automatically shook her head. “He’s not dead.”

 _I hope like hell she’s right…_ “How do you know?”

“Because if he _was_ , you know Pierce would find some way to spin it as the ultimate anti-Muggle story to get people on board with him. If he were dead, it would be all over every newspaper.”

There were a few minutes where no one said anything, absorbing that idea. Steve had his doubts, but there was no denying that she had a point. Pierce would be jumping for joy to finally get Bucky out of his hair—and Steve _definitely_ still believed Pierce had to do with this whole thing. Every single person involved in this turned out to be connected back to him. With how closely he’d worked with Schmidt, even promoting him to headmaster when he left to become Minister? There was no way he hadn’t recognized what Schmidt was. And if he wanted that power for himself, there was no telling what things he’d done to ensure Schmidt was successful.

There was also the not insignificant fact that Steve wasn’t ready to give up on Bucky just yet. He’d _never_ be ready for that, so he would fight on until he had his friend back or a body to finally bury in that plot at Brompton Cemetery. If the unthinkable happened and what he found was the latter, then he’d reunite Bucky with his family or die trying.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed it when Clint inquired, “Speaking of, has anybody even _read_ a newspaper today?”

Nat shot him a deadpan look.

“Just saying, we wouldn’t know if it was _all over every newspaper_ unless we actually _read_ a newspaper.”

“Man’s got a point,” admitted Sam, snorting when Nat turned her nose up at both of them. Steve’s mom muttered something about _immature children no matter how old they get_ before retreating to the kitchen to grab the rolled up copy of today’s _Daily Prophet_ off the counter. She’d apparently dumped it with the rest of them—two weeks’ worth now—without bothering to check the headline.

As soon as she did, Steve thought she _might_ just die on the spot. 

“What is it?” he asked, his heart falling into his stomach as she held out the paper to him with trembling hands.

His heart descended to somewhere around his feet when he read, “MINISTER DECLARES SOLUTION TO MUGGLE VIOLENCE – ENLISTS AID OF COMMUNITY PHILANTHROPIST, JAMES BARNES.”

> _Big news out of the Ministry today. Following numerous attacks on Wizarding families and children (including physical assaults, kidnapping, and murder to name a few), the Minister has made many announcements in recent years about the need for reform when it comes to our relations with Muggles. In 2013, the Security Insight Protocol was passed to monitor communications between members of the Muggle and magical communities to determine where threats may lie and address them before a crime can occur. Unfortunately, this has only seen the rise of Muggles arrested for crimes while not decreasing the rate of the crimes themselves._
> 
> _Given the latest case involving a group of Muggles associated with William Baker, the Muggle who was tried and convicted by the Wizengamot on Tuesday for the kidnapping of and inhumane experimentation on children found in Belgium back in March, Minister Pierce has said that solid plans would be enacted to ensure our safety from potential Muggle threats. His statements have seen mixed reactions, especially among supporters of the former undersecretary, Winifred Barnes, who was a staunch advocate of Muggle-magical relations. Public opinion has become increasingly polarized in recent years since Barnes’s death, and it appears that Pierce may finally have found his ace in the hole to bring more of the naysayers to his side._
> 
> _James Barnes, son of the former undersecretary and founder of the nonprofit charity organization S.H.I.E.L.D., released a written statement this morning claiming that he will back Minister Pierce’s proposal for a permanent end to relations between Muggles and the magical community._
> 
> _“It’s becoming impossible to deny that there are hostilities between both camps,” the statement declared, “and we can’t wait until the next crisis to do something. How many more children have to be endangered before we get smart about this?”_
> 
> _When contacted for comment about the sudden change of heart after years of supporting and embodying his mother’s message of equality and tolerance, Mr. Barnes was unavailable for comment._
> 
> _In a press conference this morning in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, which Mr. Barnes did not attend, Minister Pierce outlined a spell that has been undergoing testing at the Ministry to completely separate our world from that of Muggles. In his speech, he indicated that numerous officials throughout the European continent had also signed off on the idea and offered this with regards to how the spell will work:_
> 
> _“Essentially, it is the ultimate cloaking system. Once the spell is cast, the Muggles won’t be able to see us, and we won’t be able to see them. We’ll be creating an entirely separate plane of existence free from turmoil between the two. If this is the only way to safeguard our future, so be it. The world will be a safer place when we can live openly, free to express who we are no matter where we roam without having to concern ourselves with who is watching. And the Muggles, despite how little they have proven to deserve it recently, will be afforded the same opportunity.”_
> 
> _Protesters have been barred from the Ministry in an attempt to present a united front, but that hasn’t stopped picketers from demonstrating in other parts of the community, particularly Diagon Alley. These demonstrations have already caused business interruptions at the busiest time of year when Hogwarts students are preparing to return to school for the coming term. According to Ministry statistics released earlier today, the decision polled with a steady majority reacting positively to the decision._
> 
> _The Minister’s office issued a statement following his speech that the spell to divide our worlds will be put into effect tomorrow at noon. It is recommended that all business you have with Muggle institutions is concluded, including banking transactions and personal affairs._

“He can’t do this!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and pacing across the living room. “He’s gonna make the Muggles invisible, all right—they’re not going to _be there_ anymore.”

Nat grudgingly admitted, “It’s brilliant. No one will know they’re gone because they’ll think they just can’t see them.”

Sam continued on his rant while Steve watched in silence, his mind a million miles away. That statement… A _written_ statement, meaning no one had actually seen or heard Bucky say it… There was no way Pierce could bully Bucky into suddenly switching sides—Bucky would sooner die than let that happen. Steve had no doubt about that. Besides, Bucky had been unconscious when last they’d seen him. Was he even awake right now? Was he lucid and capable of writing anything? It hardly seemed likely, which meant that someone had forged his statement and fed it to the press.

Nat had said that if Bucky were dead, they would know it.

Pierce had just told the entire Wizarding community that he was going to partner up with Bucky to get rid of Muggles for good.

“Oh, my God,” he breathed. He didn’t realize he’d spoken until his mother put a hand on his shoulder in concern.

“Sweetie, what is it?”

Steve stared at her with wide eyes, hardly daring to believe the conclusion he’d come to but unable to see another way around it.

_Why else would they want him alive when it would be so much easier for Pierce if he were dead? Why else would they have taken his energy without killing him in the process?_

“I think I know who the second head is,” he whispered, swallowing hard and pulling the silver coin out of his pocket. “It’s Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference Note: The information about the legend of Hercules and the Lernaean Hydra are indeed true. If you haven't read the tale, it is a fascinating one. Kiveri _is_ considered to be in Lerna, hence using it as the location of a Hydra base. 
> 
> Disclaimer: There is no such thing as magic dealing with energy conduction in the HP canon universe to my knowledge. I made it up for reasons, mostly story reasons. For anyone familiar with the magic in HP canon, this is _not_ like a Horcrux spell--rather, it is the exact opposite. Instead of the splitting and transfer of a soul, energy is farmed from various sources (ex., Bucky's family upon their deaths, the children in the experiments and upon _their_ deaths, etc.) and conducted through vibranium vessels. No one is possessed; there is no bit of someone residing in anything/anyone else. When the Hydra gathered enough energy to feasibly split between two heads (but not return to its original form, which takes a great deal more), it killed itself to release its energy and power into vibranium vessels to be passed on to the two new heads who would use that power--hopefully willing, but forced if necessary. There will be more information in the next chapter, but hopefully this footnote helped clarify in case you thought it might be like a Horcrux.
> 
> Also, to anyone who I told once upon a few weeks ago that there was more to Bucky's family's deaths than just Winnie's speech, there you have it. :)


	15. Descending

Steve threw open the door to Bucky’s closet, frantically shuffling the hangers to the side until he found Bucky’s favorite hoodie and plucked it off the hanger. His mom was watching from the doorway as he darted back to the bed and wrapped it around Winter, who just moments earlier had a conniption at the mere thought of them trying to get her to move when Bucky hadn’t yet returned. No amount of prodding, yelling, begging, or wheedling had convinced her; instead her resolve hardened and she sank her claws into the comforter with an almost human glare. She’d been growing increasingly restless the longer Bucky was away and, Steve assumed, the more his scent faded from the bedding. The only thing he could think to do was wrap her up in the one article of clothing that Bucky wore constantly, even in the summertime, as a peace offering.

Winter’s eyes narrowed at him, but she allowed herself to be swaddled in her human’s scent and carried off the bed despite growling low in her throat all the while. Glancing back at the bed, Steve snatched up her monkey and quickly tucked it inside the bundle with her; she buried her face in its synthetic fur immediately.

“Here,” he murmured, passing Winter off to his mother. “Take her and go home.”

His mom stared back at him with an intensity that matched Bucky’s cat. “Steven, if you think I’m just going to go back home when Bucky’s in trouble, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Mom, I don’t have time to argue with you about this!” he exclaimed. She was blocking the doorway, so he squeezed past her to sprint into his own room.

“Then _don’t_ ,” she shot right back at him. “I’m not leaving.”

Steve stopped digging through his nightstand drawer to look back up at her, his breathing harsh and heavy as his mind ran the marathon of figuring out what the fuck they were going to do next. Natasha, Sam, and Clint had left to send word for reinforcements as soon as Steve voiced his concerns about what Pierce really planned for Bucky; they’d agreed to meet at the Ministry within the hour, which left very little time for Steve to put together what he would need. The alleged _spell_ —not that any of them thought that was actually what Pierce would be doing after what Zola had told them—wouldn’t take effect until the following day, but it was already coming up on evening. Every second was precious. He didn’t have time to argue with his mother about this, not when the world was at stake—both the wider one and the one that had always at least partially revolved around his best friend.

Clenching his teeth, Steve straightened up and approached his mother to place both hands on her shoulders. “I know you want to help Bucky,” he told her with as much calm reason as he could muster. For the second time this week, it appeared that their roles had been reversed. “I get that. I do. But we have to be smart about this. If we storm into the Ministry and go after Pierce, we need to make sure they don’t see us coming, and that means going with as few people as possible.”

“And what happens when they attack you and you have no backup?” his mom nearly growled up at him, utterly enraged.

“Mom, I’m trained for this,” he countered pleadingly. “I’m trained for these situations. You have to trust me on this.”

“You were trained by the same people who took Bucky and are planning to destroy half the world.”

 _Fair point._ “Yeah, but they didn’t know who they were dealing with when they taught me what I know,” he smirked with a shrug that even had his mother’s mouth twitching. “Besides, a lot of what I learned about being an Auror, I learned at Hogwarts. I know what I’m doing.”

There was a pause while his mom appeared to be trying to come up with an excuse, anything she could possibly say to get him to let her go. And wasn’t _that_ an odd thought—the idea that he could _let_ or _not let_ his mother do anything was preposterous. The entire world must have turned upside down for him to be so bold. If it weren’t for the fact that it was about to end, he’d probably feel pretty bad about it, too.

Kissing her cheek, Steve whipped out the ace up his sleeve. “Think about Winter, Mom. When we get Bucky back, he’s going to be devastated if anything’s happened to her. We can’t leave her here on her own, and if something happens, I want her as far away from London as possible.”

 _I want_ you _as far away from London as possible,_ was what he really wanted to say. He could tell by the look on her face that she heard it underneath his words, and tears formed in her eyes.

“Please, Mom,” begged Steve quietly with a desperation he didn’t realize he could reach. “We’ve already lost Dad. Bucky’s lost everything. Please. _Go_.”

That did it. One lone tear streaked down her right cheek as she nodded reluctantly, hugging Winter to her chest.

“You be careful,” she whispered in a broken tone he hadn’t heard since they thought the entire Barnes family had died. “You come back in one piece. And you bring Bucky with you.”

Nodding, Steve wrapped his arms around her and Winter. With his eyes closed, he firmly vowed, “I promise.”

There would be no reneging on that promise. There would be no failure. Because failure meant that everything they knew would be wiped off the face of the planet if Steve was correct in his assumptions, and there was no way he would allow that to happen.

So, as he strapped Bucky’s carrier around his mom (much to her teary amusement) and set Winter inside with her monkey and Bucky’s sweatshirt, he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t tell her he loved her one last time because he _would_ see her again. He would see her when this was over, and Bucky would be with him.

After she’d Apparated back to Brooklyn, leaving him alone in the apartment, Steve tamped down on the regret that was already rising in his gut. He repeated his mantra over and over— _we’ll be back, we’ll be back_ —as he returned to his room and made a beeline for his nightstand again.

Call him crazy, but there was no way he was going into this fight with nothing but his wand. For one thing, it was too risky. If Pierce was as powerful as Steve suspected, there was no way simple magic would be of much use until they knew what they were dealing with. Then there was the fact that he didn’t want to risk hurting Bucky, which he had no doubt Pierce would somehow trick him into doing. Steve didn’t want to say Pierce was the kind of person to use a helpless young child as a shield, but…well, he _was_ the kind of person to use a helpless young child as a shield. He’d done so metaphorically with the kids from Belgium; he wouldn’t allow the Minister to use Bucky for the same ends, as his shield _or_ his weapon.

Of course, there was also no denying that sometimes Muggle methods weren’t to be underestimated. Pierce thought himself so far above Muggles that he wouldn’t be expecting them to fight him that way—which was why, despite his aversion to weapons that were more offensive than simply for his protection, Steve plucked a knife from his drawer and strapped the sheathe to his calf beneath his jeans. Sometimes the simple things were the most effective.

As soon as he was ready, he checked the time to see that he was already running late and Apparated straight to the Ministry to find it bustling with activity. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was just another ordinary day with people trying to get where they needed to be as quickly as possible. It didn’t take more than a second to discover that this was nothing of the sort, however. Rather than organized chaos, the Atrium was a _fucking madhouse._

Steve could only describe what he was seeing as a scene straight out of the Civil Rights riots in the sixties. There was a blockade right where the Fountain of Magical Brethren stood, dozens of wizards and witches in blood red robes standing shoulder to shoulder at least three deep to keep anyone from getting past them to the elevators. Their expressions ranged from jeering pleasure to blank objectivity, but one thing was the same about them: they all had their wands drawn and at the ready. Steve didn’t recognize their uniforms from any other department at the Ministry and narrowed his eyes, recalling when Bucky had mentioned something similar happening the day Rumlow had arrived to take the kids away from S.H.I.E.L.D. That meant these weren’t Aurors, but they _were_ sanctioned by the Ministry, and Steve had no doubt they were members of Hydra dressed up to be some kind of private police force. There simply were no other possibilities given what he already knew.

Mere feet from their ranks were literally _hundreds_ of witches and wizards, all shouting abuses or trying to throw heavy objects that bounced off an invisible barrier between them and the probable Hydra agents.

 _So much for more people_ liking _that spell,_ mused Steve vaguely, scanning the crowd to see if Nat and the others had already arrived. He didn’t see them anywhere, but that didn’t mean much with how packed the Atrium was. More people were Apparating in, though the fireplaces were surprisingly quiet; they must have shut down the Floo Network, at least into the Ministry, until everything was under control. Steve found it interesting that they hadn’t put up wards to keep out anyone who wanted to Apparate in.

That is, until he remembered what Zola had told them about Muggle sympathizers meeting the same fate and realized all these people were walking into a trap.

_Where the fuck are all the Aurors?!_

Steve shoved his way through the crowd, sidestepping people as they popped into existence right in front of him, and tried to find someone he knew to tell them to get everyone the hell out of there. As far as he could see, there were no normal Ministry officials anywhere—not even the bored security guard who usually sat at a desk near the elevators. Steve got a good enough look at what lay beyond the barricade to discover nothing and no one there. It was like everything was deserted beyond the red-clad border, and Steve felt a sinking sensation in his stomach at the thought.

The clamor bordered on deafening in the Atrium, but he somehow still managed to hear his name over the commotion. When he whirled around to locate the source, it was to find Peggy pushing through a group of girls who couldn’t be long out of Hogwarts and heading straight toward him.

Relief flooded through his veins and made him unsteady on his feet for a second until he ran to pull her into his arms.

“You’re all right,” he breathed, allowing himself just a moment to let that sink in before getting back to business. With everything else up in the air, it was more bolstering than he could have imagined to know she was okay for now.

Peggy clung to him just as tightly. “Everything’s gone mad,” she shouted over the noise. He could still just barely hear her, and she was speaking right into his ear.

“Who are these guys?” he yelled back as he pulled away to jerk his head at the wizards in red. Peggy’s expression darkened.

“No one knows. Rollins came bursting in with them an hour ago and said the Minister ordered them to take over our duties.”

“He can’t do that!”

“He can when we’re all officially under investigation for withholding evidence against Muggle perpetrators,” she sneered sarcastically, thoroughly disgusted. “Apparently, when everything we have has been audited and we’ve gone through the debriefing process, we _might_ be allowed to return to work. Until then…”

“It’s these guys.” Steve glared over at them, shaking his head. If the Aurors had been purged from the Ministry, that could only mean that Pierce didn’t want anyone in his way as he unleashed his final weapon upon the world—and that he would be doing it from _here_.

_Which means Bucky’s gotta be here too._

“Listen, Peggy, there’s not much time. I need you to listen to me.”

“What is it?” she inquired, eyebrows furrowed. Steve took hold of her elbow and pulled her as far away from the ever growing mob as they could get. It was no quieter here, but Steve still lowered his voice so they wouldn’t be understood beneath the din.

“We need to get these people out of here,” he explained hurriedly. “What’s about to happen, it’s not going to be good. They’re all walking into a trap. Pierce isn’t planning on making the Muggle world _invisible_ —he’s going to annihilate it altogether.”

Frowning, Peggy countered, “But that’s impossible. That sort of magic doesn’t even _exist_ —“

“It’s old magic, _really_ old.” When she didn’t look any more convinced, he sighed, “I’m sorry. I wish there was more time to explain, but there’s not. Right now, I need you to focus on evacuating all these people with anyone else from our team you can find."

“And what exactly are _you_ planning to do?”

Steve gritted his teeth and glanced over at the barricade as a fight broke out between one of the guards and a protester. “I’ll be working on containment. We can’t let whatever Pierce is doing get outside the Ministry. If we do, I don’t know if we’ll be able to stop it.”

“And you’re planning on doing this _how_?”

_Good question. I’ll tell you as soon as I figure it out myself._

Rather than answering, Steve grabbed both her hands and said, “You once told me you would trust me no matter what. Did you mean that?”

A pause, then a reluctant admission: “Every word.”

“Then you’ve gotta let me go and _trust_ that I know what I’m doing.”

Peggy stared at him for a long moment, the seconds ticking by as she searched his eyes for something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he could tell by the way her expression softened slightly that she’d found it. She pushed herself onto her tiptoes to kiss him hard on the mouth. It was barely the breadth of a heartbeat and then she was gone without a backwards glance.

“You know, this isn’t the time to become _that_ couple.”

Steve couldn’t help snorting as he turned to see Nat smirking at him with Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Thor right behind her. However, her amusement didn’t last very long before she was nodding towards the guards who barricaded the way to the elevators.

“Those are the same ones who came to S.H.I.E.L.D. a couple of months ago.”

“I figured,” he sighed, stepping closer to the five of them. “We need to figure out how to get past them. Peggy’s working on evac for everyone else.”

“That just means they’ll be focused on _us_ ,” Clint observed. His keen eyes were surveying the assembled Hydra agents with the same expression as when he was hunting for the Snitch during a Quidditch match. “We’re gonna need a pretty good distraction.”

“Leave that to me,” ordered Nat.

Steve opened his mouth to ask what she was planning, but she was already in motion, her red hair disappearing in the crowd a moment later.

“Something tells me we probably _don’t_ want to know,” Sam muttered dryly before his expression turned serious again. “What’s the plan? Or are we just going in, guns blazing?”

“Well, I didn’t bring any guns,” shrugged Steve, “but I’m pretty sure that technically counts as a plan.”

“Not one that isn’t likely to get you killed, though.”

“Right now, I don’t think that’s going to matter either way.”

It was a sobering thought, one that Steve didn’t want to entertain yet had no choice but to do so anyway. There were too many variables here. _If_ they got everyone out— _if_ they got past the guards— _if_ there weren’t more waiting for them— _if_ they managed to find where Pierce was situated— _if_ they stopped him before everything inevitably went to shit… Nothing was destined to go well today. All they could do at this point was curtail the damage and keep everyone at a minimum safe distance until they could defuse the situation.

He repeated his internal mantra when the thought, _or die trying_ , occurred to him.

While they waited for Nat to make a reappearance, Steve glanced around to see how Peggy was faring only to find that the tactful way of putting it was _not well_. Aurors were popping up here and there, trying to direct the crowd towards the opposite end of the Atrium so they could Apparate out. No one was listening to them—they may as well have been invisible for all their messages were heeded. Instead the uproar was getting worse; more than one person had taken to hurling themselves bodily at whatever ward stood between the assemblage and the Hydra agents, trying to break down the barrier physically since apparently they’d exhausted their magical attempts.

 _Add that to the ‘if’ list,_ Steve internally sighed as he realized that they would have to bring down that shield, too, if they were going to even get to the point where they had to worry about the guards. _This just keeps getting better and better._

As it turned out, the ward wasn’t quite as strong as it appeared—or at least Steve assumed it wasn’t since the explosion that rocked the Atrium brought it crumbling down. Fire erupted along the far wall from where they were standing, and the screams of the crowd between it and them were earsplitting in the limited space. There were two more in rapid succession; even with the Aurors’ attempts, _that_ was what sent the bystanders heading for the opposite end of the Atrium. Meanwhile, on the other side of the fallen barrier, the guards were stepping back as if expecting some kind of attack. Their wands were gripped tight in their hands, and more than one of them crouched down low to make themselves a harder target to hit.

They needn’t have worried: no one tried to shoot a spell at them.

The ceiling above them, however, didn’t fare so well.

Thor, taking the hint from what was obviously Natasha’s handiwork, whipped out his wand and aimed it from where he was hidden behind the fireplace next to them. Steve’s teeth rattled in his skull as lightning struck from the ceiling to the floor where the guards were standing, sending them scattering to avoid the repeated attacks. Each bolt tore up the floorboards, adding wood and tile shrapnel to the mix, and more than one Hydra agent cried out in pain as they were impaled with debris (which, unfortunately, would not be fatal).

The civilians had stopped to watch the madness now that they could be sure no one was attacking them, and Steve’s heart almost stopped to see that many of them were drawing their own wands and charging back towards the guards in an enraged frenzy. He spotted Peggy sending spell after spell toward the head of their group, trying to turn them back and failing as they ignored what they knew would be harmless warnings.

When the disorganized congregation met the red agents, Steve thought Thor had cast another lightning spell from the thunderous noise that reverberated off the walls.

This wasn’t the distraction he’d wanted, not at all. He’d hoped that the civilians would listen to Peggy and get out while they still could; he never expected that they would join the fray like this and hoped like hell they saw reason sooner rather than later. Something of his thoughts must have been evident from his expression, because as he watched in horrified resignation, Sam put a hand on his shoulder.

“They’re making their choice, Steve. They want to fight what Pierce is doing. We have to respect that.”

Steve nodded, knowing he was right but hating it nonetheless. Still, who was he to tell them they couldn’t stand up for what they believed in? They were adults—mercifully, no one had been stupid enough to bring a child to what was essentially a riot. They may not have all the information, but they were old enough to choose: would they stand by and let Pierce get away with this, or would they fight back even if it meant risking their lives? It appeared that they were willing to do the latter, and Steve had to admire it despite his discontent.

There was still time, though. If they could find Pierce, Peggy and the other Aurors could worry about containing things up here and getting the civilians out before the casualties began to accumulate.

“Let’s go,” he ordered, dodging a Stunning Spell and sprinting across the Atrium toward what used to be a barricade. Now it was just a group of red robes that had lost all order as they defended themselves against their assailants.

One of them caught sight of Steve moving in, the others on his heels, and raised his wand to stop them. Steve was faster, though, and hit him with a Disarming Charm before he was able to get a spell out. The few others who noticed them forcing their way through to the elevators were easy enough that Steve didn’t bother using magic at all. Instead he lowered his center of gravity, led with his shoulder, and charged straight through like a battering ram. From the corner of his eye, he could see Thor doing the same. They were by far the largest of their group, so they made quick work of the unsuspecting Hydra agents who remained in their way.

By the time they made it through the thickest part of the obstruction, Nat was already waiting for them by the elevators without a hair out of place. Steve and Thor, on the other hand, were panting from exertion with their clothing and hair askew from tackling people left and right. Sam and Clint weren’t much better, although Wanda was still in shape from having used magic on anyone who got near her. She’d always been good at sending people flying with Stunning Spells, and more than one person had done their best impression of a bird before they were through.

“Well, that was easy,” drawled Nat in the face of their incredulous gazes.

“Says _you_ ,” grumbled Clint, patting his wet jeans in a disgruntled manner. Someone had missed their target and sent a Blasting Curse straight into the fountain, soaking half of the people standing around it and one very unfortunate Clint Barton.

“Perhaps you should suck it up, Barton,” recommended Wanda, striding past them into the elevator as it arrived. “I doubt what we are going to walk into will be any easier.”

Clint’s jaw practically hit the floor—Wanda wasn’t one to speak so bluntly, especially to a friend, but there was no time to marvel at her change in attitude as they heard shouting behind them. Steve glanced over his shoulder to see that some of their Hydra buddies had realized they’d made it through and were sprinting towards them, wands raised and mouths moving.

_Protego!_

A shield popped up in front of them from Steve’s wand just as he yelled, “Get in!” Once they’d obeyed, he backed into the elevator and hit a button—any button—zooming away from their opponents.

It was almost eerily quiet in the lift, and Steve took a moment to reevaluate their plan. They hadn’t exactly gotten a chance to discuss it, and now he had a feeling there wouldn’t be much time no matter where they landed in the Ministry.

“Is anyone hurt?” Everyone answered in the negative, so he continued, “Good. We need a plan of attack.”

“I’m pretty sure things are going to go pretty much like that,” observed Nat humorlessly.

“Probably. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go in prepared.”

“That’s going to be kind of hard when we don’t even know what we’re dealing with.”

“But we do,” argued Thor with a frown. “Those ones guarding the Atrium, they must have been Hydra. How many more of them could be here?”

Steve shrugged. “Peggy said Rollins accused them of being Muggle sympathizers and said those guys were replacing them until they could prove they weren’t. If that happened on every floor…”

No one wanted to finish that statement: the Ministry would be overrun, and there would be no way that six of them could combat that. At least, not on their own. For all they knew, there could be an army standing between them and their target.

“Well, first things first,” sighed Nat, pushing at Steve until he stepped aside to give her access to the elevator panel. She hit a button that brought them screeching to a halt, unsteadily falling against the walls. “We’re going in the wrong direction.”

“And you know this _how_?” inquired Sam. Nat barked something that would have been a laugh if it weren’t for how very serious it sounded.

“Jarvis said follow the money, right?” She hit the button for the Department of Mysteries. “So let’s follow the money.”

Steve grabbed one of the handholds as the elevator dropped straight down. In the back of his mind, he wondered where Jarvis was in all this. Hopefully he wasn’t still in the Ministry; when Steve had asked him to come to Greece with them, he’d refused, saying that he wanted to remain behind in case Tony’s invention found anything else of import for him to send them. Steve hadn’t heard from him after that, but he’d assumed that he was busy at work. Now, however, that bore a whole new meaning. He should have insisted that Jarvis at least stay out of the Ministry until they were sure of what was happening—but there was no use dwelling on it as the elevator gradually slowed to a stop and spit them out at the Department of Mysteries, as announced by a cool voice overhead.

It was silent when they stepped into the long corridor, wands superfluously at the ready. No one was there to greet them, which set Steve on edge more than the scene in the Atrium. It would have been better to meet some resistance, not the emptiness that reeked of thousands of eyes watching from the dark shadows near the ceiling. Steve tried to ignore the sensation, knowing it was all in his mind as he led the way forward with his wand lit.

He had never been down to this level before, not even to go to the courtrooms, so it was with a great deal of trepidation that he turned toward the plain black door at the end of the corridor. Swallowing hard, he whispered for them to be quiet and listen for any signs of movement before reaching out to push the door open.

There was no one on the other side.

“Okay, is anyone else thinking this is officially creepy?” breathed Clint behind him.

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it,” agreed Sam, shuddering in the cool air of the circular room they entered. There were identical black doors set into the walls, none of them equipped with a knob, and Steve stared around at them in confusion.

_How the fuck does anyone go anywhere down here?_

“Don’t shut the door,” he ordered when Wanda moved to do so. She froze in place, leaving the door ajar with an apologetic nod.

“I don’t suppose you know how to figure out where we’re going?” inquired Nat. Her eyes were darting from door to door as if looking for anything that might set them apart, even just a tiny scratch. There was nothing, though; each one looked exactly the same, enough so that it could have been a hall of mirrors reflecting the door they’d just come through.

“Give me a minute,” mumbled Steve distractedly. “I’ve never been down here before.”

And if he had it his way, he never would be again. There was something _off_ about it; perhaps it had to do with what they were looking for or his own personal feelings, but there was just a vague sense of unease that pervaded the very air they were breathing until he almost wanted to turn back. He remembered when Jarvis originally got the job and told them that the environment took some getting used to and was by no means for everyone. Steve now understood what he meant and had to wonder how Jarvis stood it on a daily basis—Steve hadn’t even gotten past the front door before finding that he definitely wasn’t feeling it.

They couldn’t turn back, though, not when they were so close. He had no doubt whatsoever that Nat was right. Pierce had been funneling money into the Department of Mysteries before deciding to open up about some _new spell_ they’d been testing, so this had to be where they would find what they were looking for—whether it was just Pierce or a brand new Hydra. If it was important enough that they had to keep what they were doing secret, it had to be down here. Somewhere.

_Wait…_

Frowning, Steve stepped forward to look more closely at the wall. The blue torches did little to illuminate the room around them, so Steve ran his fingers over the wall; there were no buttons or other devices that would indicate which room was which or how to decide where you wanted to go. That had to mean there was another trick to it rather than just guessing, especially since there were no knobs to open the doors anyway.

There weren’t knobs on elevator doors either, nor had Tony’s elevator at Stark Industries had buttons. Everything was voice activated, which gave Steve an idea.

“ _Research and Development_ ,” he called out, wincing at the way his voice echoed off the rounded walls.

There was a second where he was positive he’d done something wrong, then the loud _slam_ of the door they’d entered through startled them all as the room began to spin. It was dizzying, forcing Steve to close his eyes to avoid the nausea that roiled deep in his stomach when the blue torches blurred into a single line around them.

Steve wasn’t sure the room had finally settled until he heard Clint’s voice whispering, “Holy. Shit.”

When he opened his eyes, Steve couldn’t help but silently agree. The door right in front of him stood open, allowing them to pass into a room illuminated with warm lighting that was utterly incongruous with the scene before them.

The last time Steve had seen something like this, it was when he’d gone with his mother to the bank to retrieve the contents of his father’s deposit box after he’d died. He had been very young at the time, but he’d never forgotten the sight of so many silver boxes lining the walls, containing the valuables of innumerable people. Just like the bank he recalled from long ago, the sides of this room were lined from floor to ceiling with the same boxes, the doors of which were mostly open to show thousands of silver coins like the one burning a hole in Steve’s pocket. At a glance, he estimated that there were more here than there had been in the bunker in Kiveri.

That, however, wasn’t what made him freeze in his tracks. In the center of the room, surrounded by at least two dozen guards in red robes, was a chair exactly like the one he’d thrown Zola against.

And strapped to that chair was Bucky.

There was a gasp behind him and a scuffle of shoes, but he held a hand out to warn the others back as every wand in the room leveled at their chests. There was no way they could take on everyone here with only the six of them, not without risking injury to Bucky or getting themselves killed in the process. So, telegraphing every move, Steve lowered his wand to his side and flinched when the inside of his wrist brushed against where the coin was superheated in his pocket.

Instead of fighting, he surveyed their surroundings in an attempt to form some plan of action he could hopefully convey to the others to grab Bucky and get the hell out of here. The guards were obviously prepared and utterly unsurprised to see them, meaning they’d known Steve and the others were coming just as Zola had. Standing in the opposite corner of the room were Rumlow and Rollins, the former with his trademark smirk firmly in place as he stared at them with malicious glee. Rollins, on the other hand, was as dispassionate as ever; Steve couldn’t tell if he just didn’t care about Hydra’s philosophy or wasn’t one to show it, but he hadn’t even taken out his wand.

In the chair, Bucky was as pale and drawn as he had been when Steve last left him at St. Mungo’s, his eyes closed and slightly sunken in appearance. Both eyelids were darkened like bruises under the dim lighting, and his skin was yellowed and papery with dehydration. There were thick leather straps wrapped around his arms and legs, attaching him tightly to the chair; the apparatus had been lowered to fit a headpiece around his skull and obscured one eye almost entirely. His shirt had been removed, and every rib was on display in obvious indication that after he’d been taken from the hospital, no one had paid attention to his body’s basic needs. Steve ground his teeth in fury—it was all he could do not to lash out immediately, but he just barely managed to control himself under the watchful gaze of so many hostile eyes.

“Auror Rogers, Miss Romanoff, so nice of you to join us,” greeted a familiar voice.

Across the room was a vault door, through which Pierce strode without a shred of remorse. He wore the same grandfatherly smile and bespoke suit he could usually be found in during press conferences, only this time there was something more insidious about it given their current surroundings.

“I see you brought some guests,” Pierce mused, strolling toward them like there wasn’t a standoff happening a few floors above them or a hostage strapped to what looked like a torture device right before their eyes. “It’s always nice to play host to the wonderful staff of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Cut the crap, Pierce,” growled Steve as he tightened his grip on his wand. “Let him go.”

Pierce quirked an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, James has been chosen for a very special destiny. If you’ll remember, at your graduation I said that his work would be a gift to mankind. That he would shape the century. Well, I was right, and I just need him to do it one more time.”

“What, by killing millions of innocent people?” scoffed Sam in contempt.

“Innocent?” Pierce chuckled with a disbelieving glance around at the rest of them, as if they might share his skepticism that Sam could be so foolish. When it became obvious he wouldn’t find what he was looking for, Pierce shook his head and surveyed them all with pity in his eyes. “I can’t imagine a group of people less innocent on this planet, Mr. Wilson.”

Steve couldn’t stop himself from saying, “It doesn’t count as _guilt_ when they’ve been framed.”

Tutting, Pierce turned his back on them and slowly paced back and forth. “Framed is such a strong word, Auror Rogers. After all, it’s hardly framing when they were justly accused of crimes that they would have committed given the opportunity and the means. Don’t you see? We’re keeping the community safe by taking them off the streets before they become a threat.”

“I thought the punishment usually came _after_ the crime.”

“We can’t afford to wait that long.”

“Who’s _we_? Hydra?”

“Anyone who calls themselves a member of the magical community,” clarified Pierce as though it were obvious. “Let me ask you a question. What if Muggles marched into Diagon Alley tomorrow, and you knew they were going to drag your mother into the street for execution, and you could stop it with a flick of a switch, a simple spell… Wouldn’t you?”

“Not if it’s _your_ spell,” retorted Clint flatly. Pierce huffed something that could have been a laugh.

“You see, the problem is that you’ve been brainwashed by the foolish mindset of our time. A mindset that _his mother_ ,” he pointed at Bucky’s prone form, “fought to perpetuate. Muggles have been intolerant since the dawn of time, viciously attacking anything that’s different from them when really, they’re the ones who should have died out years ago.”

“What do you mean by that?” Thor demanded, an edge to his tone that clearly indicated he was thinking of his brother.

“It’s evolution. _We_ are the ones who have adapted to our environment and helped the world progress to the point it’s reached. _We_ are what comes next. Muggles are what came before. What problem in the world can’t be attributed to overcrowding? We go against nature by treating all people as equal and prolonging the inevitable by trying to defend Muggles who should have gone extinct. We treat them like pets, forcing them to live just a little longer no matter how their own lives crack and crumble as a result. What you get after that is a rabid beast that has to be put down instead of getting to perish gracefully.”

“So, this is one big Darwin experiment,” summarized Nat with raised eyebrows. In any other situation, she probably would have laughed right in Pierce’s face, but with him standing so close to Bucky, there was no way any of them would take that risk. “You think you have the right to play God and decide who’s fit to live or die.”

“But the gods were the ones who started this to begin with, and the Muggles who worshipped them,” rebutted Pierce, his smirk vanishing to leave a dark expression in its wake. “The old gods have finally been allowed to die. Now it’s time for the Muggles to share their fate to make the world free for us to flourish. See, I ran for Minister not because I _wanted_ to, but because our community _needed_ me to. Because I’m a realist. I know, that despite all the Muggle-magical diplomacy and the handshaking and the rhetoric, to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down—and that makes enemies. But what you aren’t seeing is that our enemies are _your_ enemies. Disorder, war… It’s just a matter of time before the Muggles destroy everything we’ve worked so hard to build just like the gods that came before them. I can bring order to the lives of seven billion people by sacrificing a few million. It’s the next step, if you have the courage to take it.”

Steve smirked, shaking his head. “No. We have the courage _not_ to.”

Pierce stared straight into his eyes, neither of them blinking or looking away. It felt like Steve was seeing right into his soul to find that there wasn’t one at all. There was merely a deep, dark void characteristic of a monster, not a human being—Muggle _or_ magical.

Eventually, Pierce smiled at him and turned to step up to Bucky.

“You know,” he mused almost too quietly for them to hear. “When Castle sent word that this one wasn’t with the rest of the family, I was disappointed. I didn’t realize what a blessing in disguise it was until Rollins informed me that he was at Hogwarts.”

Steve took an involuntary step forward in surprise, his eyes snapping to Rollins where he was still observing the proceedings without any emotion whatsoever. How had he known?

Seeming to sense his thoughts, Pierce answered his unspoken question, “He overheard your conversation in the Forbidden Forest. James of all people should know better than to shout his business for everyone to hear. A pity, really, but also such a boon. Having Rumlow and Karpov try to kill him was a mistake. I can admit that. It’s been worth the constant insubordination and attempts to discredit me to the public. It’s been worth every minute to know that he’s here now, right where he belongs. To know that he’ll help bring about our new world order.”

“Touch him and you die.”

Nat’s warning actually made Pierce laugh, and he turned to look at them with a horrible grin. “I think, Miss Romanoff, that you will be far too busy for that. You see, I’ve been hoping you would drop by. You can’t possibly imagine how inconvenient it was when James arrived without the one thing we needed to finally make everything complete. But now you’ve been kind enough to deliver it to us, and I can’t express how grateful I am to you for completing the collection of the Hydra’s power.”

Steve was suddenly jerked forward by his hips, an invisible force tying itself around his waist and yanking until he was on his knees. The heat of the silver coin vanished as the trinket was summoned from his pocket straight into Pierce’s outstretched hand, and Steve stared in shock because _he summoned it without even using his wand._

“Despite its immortality, the Hydra could not possess the same power it once had without an offering of energy and magic in return,” Zola had told them, and Steve’s eyes widened even further as he realized what that really meant.

The Hydra had stolen energy and magic until it was powerful enough not to be diminished when it divided in two and let itself be reincarnated elsewhere. He’d gathered what he could and let it all be unleashed upon the sacrifice of his immortality into the coins—which Pierce must have used to gather more energy from the rest of their victims. He’d absorbed it. The new Hydra would need all the power it could get, and it had just that. Pierce was strong enough that he didn’t _need_ a wand to do magic.

Nor did Bucky.

Scrambling to his feet, Steve lunged forward without a thought as Pierce turned back to the chair and lowered the coin into the apparatus around Bucky’s head. Five of the guards tackled Steve before he could make it three steps, and he wrestled with them in futile determination while he heard the others doing the same behind him. They couldn’t let this happen—this couldn’t _be_ happening—

The moment the coin made contact with the apparatus, it whirred to life like the inside of some great machine. The headpiece clamped down on Bucky’s forehead and, even in his unconsciousness, his body jerked and twitched as electricity jolted through him.

Pierce turned back to grin at Steve manically. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own coin—

As did Rumlow and Rollins and all the guards who weren’t busy holding him back—

The coins in the vaults were all emitting an incandescent, blinding blue light—

Then the entire world erupted into chaos and destruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The description of the Department of Mysteries is pretty much straight from "Order of the Phoenix."


	16. At the End of the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is extra long! I suppose you could say...it's a real _beast_. *badum tsh*

T’Challa had said that Bucky’s coin was part of a larger whole, the purpose of which was unknown but certainly of enormous consequence.

As the room shattered around them, Steve began to put together the pieces of the puzzle. When the lights were extinguished, leaving them staggering around in the dark, he realized what was going on. And the moment he heard the roar of a gigantic beast rearing up and tearing through the levels of the Ministry of Magic, he knew what they must do.

In a sense, it was simpler than he’d thought. Schmidt, the Hydra, needed energy and power to reclaim the glory he’d had in the days before Hercules had come to slay him. He’d stolen those things from any source he could—Muggle or magic, adult or child, whatever suited him.

He’d made the ultimate sacrifice, forfeiting his immortality to divide the power he’d absorbed into two larger pieces—new heads to govern the whole. Those pieces had been dormant until more power could be gathered to return them to their original state, contained in vibranium as Pierce would have known they could be. All they needed was the right time, the right spell, and the right magical hosts to house all that power and set things in motion.

The experiments had been attempts to gather more energy. The children had died not because they were sick from chemical exposure, but because their small bodies had succumbed to the drain put on them.

Bucky had grown so ill because the same had happened to him and Steve hadn’t even recognized it.

And now the coins had released their energy and the Hydra was back, its silhouette just barely visible against the backdrop of destruction it was causing as it clawed its way up toward Muggle London. All the years the Hydra had bided its time culminated in this monster, this two-headed beast that had swallowed Steve’s best friend.

Coughing the dust and despair out of his lungs, Steve squinted up to discover that the Hydra wasn’t the colorful creature he remembered seeing in a Disney movie as a child. Nor was it the same as the images Thor had shown them, painted on pottery to tell the story of Hercules’s great achievement. It almost looked like some grotesque mixture of a reptile and bird of prey. Hardened scales covered its body, tinged green in the dim light filtering in from the exposed floors above, and spikes rose up all along its spine as it narrowed to a long tail. Both heads stretched high above the rest of its torso on long necks; they looked like snakes, although their mouths were sharpened beaks to match the enormous claws on its four feet. Two of these were planted on the ground while the others endeavored to tear the Ministry apart from the inside.

It was working.

“Steve!”

He turned to see Nat crouched a few feet away, her hair nearly white from the dust raining down on them. Clint and Sam were both huddled in the doorway they’d never shut on their way in, and it was ironic to see how incongruously normal the circular hallway beyond appeared, as if it didn’t realize that everything was going to shit and it should probably get with the program. Thor had obviously borne the brunt of the falling debris, his shirt covered in shards of glass and wood where he was still huddled over Wanda, protecting her from the worst of it.

“You guys all right?” he shouted over the noise, glancing around the remains of the room once he was sure they weren’t injured. The coins that had glowed with such brilliant luminescence were gone, and it was only then that he realized they’d all melted together to form the coat of scales covering the Hydra’s body. That meant that their opponent wasn’t just fucking enormous—it was also covered in the hardest metal on earth.

Steve cursed under his breath, slipping on debris as he struggled to stand straight. All the guards were gone, as was everyone else who had surrounded them mere moments ago. Steve could only assume that their own powers had been absorbed into the collective, put to the Hydra’s use without a thought to their own wellbeing. Would they be able to change back? Would this be permanent and they would live as naught but ghosts within the mind of the Hydra, waiting for the chance to become another head on its body? Was it possible that they would be released if the Hydra were defeated?

Was it possible that they _could_ defeat the Hydra without also killing Bucky in the process?

There was no point in dwelling on it right now. They needed to worry about containing the monster, which would be easier said than done, and there was absolutely nothing left of the room that would assist them in that venture. For the first time, Steve felt overwhelmingly underprepared with his wand and the knife still strapped to his leg—this was beyond anything he’d ever seen before.

But he was an Auror and fighting dark wizards was his fucking job, so Pierce was going down if Steve had to personally escort him to the gates of Hell.

“We need to get up there and keep it from getting to the street!” yelled Steve. He turned his resolve on his friends and noted their mingled reluctance and determination.

“What’s the plan, Cap?” inquired Sam, reverting to the nickname Steve had gotten as captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It seemed appropriate: they were looking to him just as his team had done when they were in school. Maybe if he thought of it like that—just a game with a strategy and only one winner—he could get them all through this, hopefully alive.

“Right now, our first priority has to be containing this thing before it gets out of the Ministry,” he ordered, jumping back as the beast’s enormous tail swept to the side and nearly plowed right into him. He grabbed Nat’s arm and jerked her back towards the door, which was too small for any part of the Hydra to fit through. “After that, we can worry about how to take it down.”

“Preferably without hurting Bucky in the process,” pointed out Wanda with a stern glare in his direction. Steve nodded solemnly and refused to think of the alternative.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“Okay, yeah, great plan and all,” interjected Clint with a sour expression. “But how exactly are we supposed to get rid of this thing _or_ stop it? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re down a few people.”

“Then we do everything we can for as long as we can,” answered Thor, his fists clenched and face grim.

Shrugging, Nat added, “If we can minimize the damage, that might buy us some time to find out if it has any weaknesses. I’d check its underside—the scales might not go all the way around.”

“We’ll figure it out when we get topside,” interceded Steve. He’d been watching the Hydra while they were talking, and it wasn’t going to be long before they were either crushed beneath the weight of the debris that was still falling down into what had been the Department of Mysteries or the beast itself as it began to shift back and forth in its bid for freedom. The opposite side of the room had already been blown out to accommodate its size—it was a miracle they were still standing as it was. A deafening growl rent the air, and they covered their ears; Steve couldn’t hear his own voice when he cried out in pain from the reverberation of the awful noise.

Sam was staring up at the Hydra in thinly veiled terror as he tried to gird himself. “ _If_ we get topside.”

“We’ll get there,” Steve insisted, his tone brooking for no argument. Once again, the alternative wasn’t something he cared to consider. “Just try to stay out of the way of its claws. If it’s anything like a dragon, it’ll be susceptible to a Conjunctivitis Curse. If you get hurt, hurt it back.”

“And if we get killed?” snorted Clint, somehow still able to maintain his sense of humor (morbid as it was) even in the presence of the hell they faced.

Steve shrugged. “Walk it off.”

The grins he got in response were quite frankly frightening given their current predicament, but Steve didn’t allow himself to stay still long enough to pay them any mind. They all had jobs to do.

Whirling around, Steve sprinted back into what remained of the chamber where Pierce had given them his _Evil Villain Monologue_ and ran straight for the Hydra’s tail. With all the upper floors crumbling away, there would be nothing to climb to make it up and he wasn’t about to take the elevators—which may or may not still be working—when it was more than likely that they would fall to their deaths long before they made it to the Atrium.

So he grabbed hold of the spikes on the Hydra’s tail and climbed up, hoping he’d be able to latch onto one of the two necks and maintain his position so the Hydra could literally drop him off above.

His plan worked until he got to the base of the neck on his right side and found that it was invertebrate—the whole head swooped down and around until yellow eyes were glaring right at him in immeasurable rage for his audacity to use it as a step stool. The creature roared; Steve thought his eardrums were about to burst when his hands were too busy holding on to cover his ears. Instead he ducked his head down as far as he could to insulate himself between his arms.

There was a sudden jerking motion beneath him, then the head dashed away from his perch. When Steve looked, he found that Sam and Clint had remained on the floor while Nat had climbed up behind him, and all three were firing Conjunctivitis Curses at the head he’d been facing off against. None of them made contact: the creature was just too fast. A small part of Steve thought that perhaps _that_ was the head that had been created from Bucky—he’d always had damn good reflexes.

_Now isn’t the time for that—get moving!_ he mentally berated himself. Renewing his grip and trusting his friends to watch his back from the ground, Steve shifted his weight and struggled to climb up the monster’s neck with it writhing and dodging all over the place.

“Okay, cut it out!” he yelled down at them, hoping that if they weren’t firing anymore and he was high enough he would be fine.

Either his friends didn’t hear him or they saw something he didn’t, because none of the jets of light as much as paused in their assault. The Hydra continued to veer this way and that, the other head finally abandoning its attempt to continue digging upward to help.

_Okay, progress._

Steve gritted his teeth as he was once again nearly thrown off, redoubling his efforts to hang on until he noticed that the other head was staring right at him. Although he was high enough not to be reached by the first, the other was a whole other matter entirely.

It reared back just as Steve shifted to the side, putting the width of the other neck between him and the viciously sharp teeth driving toward him—

There was a jerk and a thunderous cry of pain—

Steve sputtered as he was suddenly drenched in something warm and wet, his fingers scrabbling for purchase and finding none. Then he was falling, reaching for a handhold that wasn’t there, unable to see with his eyes covered in sticky warmth—

—but he didn’t hit the ground.

Something hard and unyielding caught his arm and hauled him back up. It was like he was back on his broom considering the speed at which he zoomed up into the air. He tried to lift his other arm to wipe away whatever was obscuring his vision, but it was no use when more of it dripped down his forehead every time he thought he’d managed it.

Waiting until his ascent ceased and he was unceremoniously dumped on a hard wooden floor, Steve reached up to clear his eyes. His hands came away dark red—almost black with the fluid’s intensity. Confused, he squinted at the liquid in an attempt to figure out what it was when it suddenly dawned on him: one head had bitten into the other’s neck in an attempt to get at him. He was covered in the creature’s rancid blood.

_Bucky’s blood,_ he reminded himself nauseously. It was impossible for him to forget that Bucky was inside that _thing_ , nor did he want to. The second he overlooked that one very important detail was when he made a mistake that may be irreversible, one that would kill him more than the Hydra could. Figuratively speaking, of course.

“Sheesh, I always thought red was your color after all those years in the goody two-shoes house, but this is kind of ridiculous even for you, Rogers,” Tony Stark’s voice mused, sounding almost robotic.

Steve’s head shot up to see— _not Tony._ In his place was some kind of android standing mere feet away, shiny even when coated in a fine layer of dirt. The panels were painted red and gold; a light shone in the middle of the chest and through what Steve assumed were eye holes in the helmet.

“Tony?” he verified tentatively. The robot’s head shifted to the side.

“The one and only. Who else did you think would save your ass like that? Barton?” Tony scoffed audibly from inside what Steve recognized now as a suit of armor. “Please, leave the superhero-ing to the professionals.”

“Right,” snorted Steve, not quite managing the derisive tone he was going for in his disbelief. When Nat had said she would be calling for reinforcements before they got to the Ministry, this admittedly wasn’t what Steve had in mind. “What the hell are you wearing?”

If there had been any doubt in his mind that it was Stark in that suit, it was dispelled the second it struck a pose: hips jutted out to the side, both hands settled heroically on its hips. “This is the Mark Twelve. See, that little ditty Old McBuckster thought wasn’t worth using in his mom’s campaign? The one for Muggles? Yeah, this is _so_ much better. Who needs a wand when the spells are already built in? You just put on the suit and you’re ready to go a few rounds with the toughest monsters, even our two-in-one down there. It’s great, right?”

“It’s…definitely something.” Steve was distracted as he attempted to get as much blood off himself as possible, the floor shaking beneath them. Tony’s gauntlet closed around the collar of his shirt and literally dragged him away from the rapidly widening hole right in the middle of the Atrium floor—Steve hadn’t even realized that was where they had landed, but he recognized the Fountain of Magical Brethren a few feet away. At least, he recognized the half of it that was still intact; the rest had already fallen through the floor, victim to the Hydra’s escape attempt.

“I don’t suppose you could stop that thing, could you?” he demanded, staggering to his feet and edging closer to the hole. He darted back immediately when one of the heads shot forward, the edge of its beak closing on the floor in front of him to tear away even more of the wood. It wouldn’t be long before it found some way to climb up, then they were going to have an even bigger mess on their hands if it made it through the last barrier between containment and open air.

“Yeah, see, no can do. That thing’s too big even for the suit, and it looks like it’s got armor of its own.”

“It’s vibranium.”

“How the fuck did it get a _vibranium coat_?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Steve huffed, whipping out his wand. He waited until he had a clear shot before sending a Conjunctivitis Curse of his own straight at the left head’s eyes.

It ducked at the last moment, but it couldn’t escape the one that Steve followed up with and howled in rage and pain. Its yellow eyes squeezed shut and the head jerked back and forth as if trying to shake the spell’s effects away.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough room, which resulted in the monster beating its head against the floor. Steve and Tony backed up, the latter shooting spells that Steve couldn’t identify from glowing circles built into the hands of the suit, but the floor was already caving in.

“Tony, you need to go down there and get the others out!” Steve shouted over the commotion.

Tony didn’t hesitate before diving down into the hole, some kind of jets on the bottom of his shoes propelling him forward.

For his part, Steve wasn’t idle in his absence. The Atrium was mostly empty, which fortunately meant that it had probably been deserted by the time the Hydra regenerated. There were a few bodies strewn here and there, just about all of them wearing red, but Steve could also see some of the civilians from earlier mixed in. Swallowing hard, Steve jogged closer to the Fountain of Magical Brethren, took aim, and shouted, “ _Bombarda!_ ”

The rest of the (admittedly tacky) statues burst into pieces, the wizard’s head almost crushing Steve as it collapsed in the spot he quickly vacated. Not missing a beat, Steve cast a Levitation Charm and flicked his wand to the side. The head went soaring through the air and straight through the hole in the floor—a screech of pain echoed through the Atrium right as Tony shot back up with Nat and Clint gripping tight to his hands. As soon as he dropped them beside Steve, he went back to retrieve the others.

“Nice shot,” complimented Nat, nonverbally sending the rest of the fountain’s obliterated inhabitants careening over the edge. This time there was no sound from the Hydra.

Instead they could hear Tony’s voice repeating, “ _Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit_ ,” a minute before he jetted out of the hole followed by both heads.

They didn’t stop.

The wind was knocked out of his chest as Steve felt the Hydra’s huge tail slam into him. Then he was flying through the air and, a moment later, pain erupted when his back hit the wall. From the gasps and shouts around him, it didn’t sound like his friends had fared much better.

When he was finally able to squint his eyes open through the pain, they practically jumped out of his head to see that the Hydra had literally _jumped_ up and caught its claws on the floor. Huge gashes were gouged into the wood, but it held as the beast managed to get its hind legs up behind it.

_Shit was right._

“Knock it back down!” he yelled, already firing off every spell he could think of as the others did the same. Sam and Clint circled around behind the Hydra, aiming for its legs while Nat, Tony, and Steve took on the front. Thor and Wanda had split up; Steve could just make out Thor climbing up on what remained of the fireplaces to attack from a better vantage point while Wanda was busy magically throwing every possible piece of debris through the air like bullets.

Nothing seemed to do more than piss the Hydra off. Steve found himself on the defensive more than anything else, both heads darting out at them with snapping jaws and enormous, razor-sharp fangs.

Thinking fast, Steve saw his opportunity and took it without thinking of the consequences: he leapt to the side right as the head on his right attacked him, slicing down with his wand and crying out, “ _Diffindo!_ ”

The roar of the Hydra went silent, the air thick with tension as it froze with its neck outstretched. The other head looked on as the gash in the first bled profusely. Steve’s Severing Charm hadn’t been enough to completely separate the head, but it _was_ enough to give it pause.

Nat, however, wasn’t patient enough to see what it would do next. She sent her own Severing Charm straight at the original wound, the others following suit except for Thor, who was yelling something Steve couldn’t quite decipher over the noise of their combined spells and the gurgle emitting from the rapidly severing neck. Steve was about to cast one more—he could see the bone through the scales and realized they didn’t protect its neck the same way they did the body—when it occurred to him.

_Cut off one head, two more shall take its place._

He stopped dead in his tracks—but Sam didn’t. “No, _wait_!”

It was too late. The spell went straight through the bit of muscle and sinew that remained, the head itself going motionless as it fell to the floor with a loud _thump_. The other head didn’t bother to attack, watching closely while the eyes of the other stared blankly out at them. Despite the lack of light or life there, Steve couldn’t help the shiver that went up his spine at the sheer malice that was still glaring out at the world.

“Hurry!” shouted Thor, hopping down from his perch and sprinting towards them with his wand raised. “We need to cauterize it befo—“

His words were abruptly cut off when the Hydra’s body dropped to the ground, sending them all to the floor with it. Steve dove behind the remains of the security checkpoint and watched in horror as the headless neck rose up in trembling spasms, wriggling and writhing uncontrollably. The intact head hissed, its teeth snapping as a membrane grew around the bloodied stump beside it. It was like watching birth on fast forward: the slick skin covered the open wound, was stretched out by two rapidly growing lumps, and then two more heads broke through the barrier to hiss and spit their way into existence. The force of their emergence was so violent that the Hydra’s body jerked upright, all three heads slamming up against the roof of the Atrium, which began to crumble from the sheer weight pressed against it.

The Hydra seemed to realize it, abandoning its attack on them and focusing instead on practically crushing its heads repeatedly against the ceiling. Just as it had below, the structure cracked and began to cave in places, raining debris down on them.

Steve covered his face with his arm after a sharp bit of rock cut his cheek, calling out to his friends, “We need to keep it from getting out!”

“If you’ve got any plans on how to do that, I’m all ears,” Tony entered his sarcastic input. His suit wasn’t even dented from the assault; unlike the rest of them, he was still in decent shape.

“Tony, just distract the damn thing and give us a minute,” ordered Nat impatiently, sliding across the floor to join Steve behind his cover with the others in tow.

The suit stared at her dispassionately, and Steve thought it was very likely that Tony was struggling to think of some comeback to that about not taking orders from anyone but Pepper or something. It would have been a very _Tony Stark_ thing to say. Instead, he said nothing at all—it was a testament to what a deep pile of shit they were in that he took off without another word, using the speed of his flight to veer around the Hydra’s heads and letting them make chase rather than continuing to assault the ceiling.

“So the head thing is obviously not gonna work,” pointed out Sam a bit needlessly, his expression still guilty from the fact that he’d cast the last Severing Charm. Steve shook his head.

“No, but now we know that.”

“Should’ve known it before.”

Now it was Thor’s turn to argue, “There was no way to tell that this Hydra would react the same as the one of yore.”

“Wait, Zola said they _were_ the same,” frowned Clint in confusion.

Steve thought back to their conversation in Kiveri—Zola _had_ said that it was the same Hydra they were bringing back. But he’d been talking about Schmidt, not Pierce and Bucky. This was an entirely different beast altogether.

“Not anymore,” he realized aloud, eyes wide. He glanced over to ensure Tony was still living (he was) before continuing quickly, “If Schmidt had found a way to change like this, it would be. Thor, in that book you showed us, it said something about the Hydra’s blood being deadly, right?”

“Extremely,” confirmed Thor with a solemn nod. “Even its scent would be enough to kill a mortal.”

“Which means I should be dead right now.” Steve gestured towards his stained clothes and fought a grimace at the reminder that he was covered in blood that wasn’t his. _There’ll be time for that later._

“But you’re not, which means this isn’t the same Hydra Zola was talking about,” deduced Sam with dawning realization on his face. “When he passed on his powers to Pierce—“

“—he fucked them over,” Clint concluded with a grin. “This thing’s not as powerful as the old one.”

Steve added thoughtfully, “And it’s not immortal either. Schmidt gave that up, so if we can figure out a way to kill it without taking out its heads, that should be the end of it. Do what Nat said and check the underside. If its heart isn’t protected, go for it with everything you’ve got. Shut it down.”

Cursing quietly, Thor sprinted away from them to help Tony, who had gotten caught in one of three sets of jaws. It was just his gauntlet and the suit was obviously capable of withstanding the hold, but there was no telling how long it would last. They needed to act, and they needed to do it fast.

“What about Bucky?” inquired Wanda softly, her face screwed up in concentration. Steve noticed for the first time that she had conjured a shield to protect the ceiling; it wouldn’t be much of a match for the Hydra if it went on the offensive again, though it would at least buy them some more time.

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. That was the part he hadn’t figured out yet—whether there was a way to reverse whatever magic had transformed them or if they had no choice but to kill it and hope for the best or whether Bucky would even die with the creature or if he’d change back into his normal self or if Pierce would be there _too_ —

“For now, we need to focus on taking the Hydra down,” he answered reticently, not making eye contact with any of them. “Letting it get out is going to be the worst-case scenario. Stopping it has to be our first priority.”

_Even if it means…_

Steve stopped that line of thinking right there. Bucky was stronger than this—he’d overcome the absolute worst things in the world and remained one of the most passionate, loving, kind, and loyal people Steve had ever met in his life. An indomitable will like that couldn’t be silenced or extinguished even by the darkest of magic.

That was when it occurred to him: if Bucky was still in there, perhaps there would be a different way to get to the Hydra.

There wasn’t enough time for Steve to flesh out that thought. A crash reverberated off the walls just as they were knocked off their feet onto the ground. Bits of the ceiling were falling down all around them—Tony had been batted aside and Thor was on the ground a few feet away from him.

The Hydra reared back, leapt up, and broke through the barrier into the Muggle world.

 

***

 

_“Mom, what’s wrong? Why did they have to go to the Ministry?”_

_His mom was frowning uncomfortably but didn’t try to avoid his question as she answered, “Something bad happened, so they just want to make sure Bucky and his family are okay.”_

_“Yeah, but why do they have to go_ now _?”_

_Sighing, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him over to sit on the sofa. It took a few minutes before she seemed to think of what she wanted to say, but when she did, he was surprised at how sad she looked._

_“Sometimes,” she told him quietly, “when someone does bad things, they have more planned. What happened today, they… There’s a group of bad people. They’re called terrorists.”_

_“Aren’t those the people you said Dad was fighting?”_

_“The same_ kind _of people, but not the exact same ones,” qualified his mother with a small smile at the memory of his father. They had stopped talking about him openly years ago, but it wasn’t that they shied away from it; there just wasn’t much to say anymore. “Terrorists can be anyone who tries to use fear to control people. These ones are trying to do it so they stop Winnie’s bill from getting pushed through.”_

_“But why?” he inquired, confused and more than a little irritated. Since starting at Hogwarts, he’d read enough about the people who said the Barnes Initiative wasn’t worth the effort or that it was downright dangerous to the Wizarding community. Was it really worth hurting people just to stop it from happening?_

_His mother shook her head sadly. “Because some people are just evil, Steve. Sometimes they want what they want and if they think they’re not going to get it, they get violent. They hurt people who didn’t deserve it like they did tonight.”_

_Frowning, he added, “And the Ministry thinks they might try to hurt Winnie too?”_

_“Yeah, sweetie.”_

_They were silent for a long moment, his mind running back over what had happened with new perspective: George rushing in to make sure Bucky was safe, the entire family having to leave in the middle of the night (or the early morning at this point), Aurors coming to guard them on their way…_

_“Will they be okay?” he whispered, eyes wide as he stared at his mother. He wasn’t a baby anymore; he_ knew _the risks as well as she did. Regardless, he felt a pang of fear in his chest and needed validation. He needed reassurances that he hadn’t just seen his best friend for the last time._

_His mother was quick to comfort him, claiming, “Of course they will. You’ll see—this is going to blow over. They’ll be fine, and Bucky will probably be back at Hogwarts by the time you get there.”_

_He nodded slowly, but the trepidation must still have been evident on his face. Reaching over, his mom took both his hands and forced him to make eye contact._

_“Listen, Steve, because this is important. Whatever you do, you watch out for Bucky, okay? Things are going to get pretty hard from here on out. I just…have a feeling. They’re going to be fine, but there_ are _bad people out there who don’t like what Winnie stands for. You know all those times Bucky stood up for you in a fight?”_

_Much as he hated to admit it, he nodded._

_“Well, this is going to be the same thing. His family and the Ministry, they’ll be fighting just like you were. And Bucky’s going to need you to support him, okay? It’s more important for you two to stick together now than ever. Do you understand?”_

_“Yeah, Ma,” he promised determinedly. “I understand.”_

 

***

 

By the time they made it out onto the street, their side of London was a mess. If Steve didn’t know any better—and maybe he didn’t—the Hydra had actually grown in size along with the addition of a head. It towered above the streets, taller than many of the buildings in this part of the city. Its massive feet were twice the size of the cars they crushed; more than one building had a chunk gouged out of it by the sweeping of vicious claws.

All around, people were panicking, wizard and Muggle alike. Many of the people nearby were recognizable from the mob scene inside the Atrium…had it only been a few minutes ago? It felt like an eternity as they stood there watching the monster crush everything in its path, its heads swooping down to attack anything it missed. Screams rent the air—a woman was impaled on gigantic fangs—a man rolled under a car, thinking it would be safe only to find the exact opposite as his body was broken beneath it a moment later—children were shouting for their parents with tears running down their faces—confusion and terror and chaos and panic reigned supreme as everyone desperately ran to get away from the beast that had come to purge them from the face of the planet.

It was all Steve could do to tear his attention away from the scene unfolding before him, but they needed a plan and fast.

“Stark, you need to get in the air,” ordered Steve, taking charge when it became obvious no one else would. “Try to lead it away from the center of the city. Stick to the less populated areas if you can. If anyone left from Hydra tries to stop you, we’ll turn them back or turn them to ash.”

“On it,” acknowledged Stark, already lifting off.

Turning to Thor, he pointed to the structures around them. “See what you can do to slow it down. You’ve got the lightning—light the bastard up.”

If a grin could be called grim, that was exactly how Steve would describe Thor’s expression as he took off. The latter pointed his wand at his feet to launch himself into the air and landed on top of the nearest building that wasn’t currently structurally compromised. He’d always been good with natural spells, and his lightning manipulation from earlier had been more than effective—let the Hydra fight the elements.

Meanwhile, that wasn’t their only problem.

“Wanda,” he continued, pulling her aside as a group of Muggles streaked past in the opposite direction. “I want you to focus on getting as many people to safety as you can. You’re better than the rest of us at manipulating objects. Do whatever you can to keep the debris away from them so they can get away.”

When she was gone, Steve was left with Nat, Clint, and Sam. It wasn’t exactly the army he figured they were going to require to take the Hydra down, but it was better than going it alone. That would be disastrous for more than just them.

“What’re we gonna do?” inquired Clint with raised eyebrows. He had obviously realized the very same thing, probably long before they’d even arrived at the Ministry, but he wasn’t running. That just strengthened Steve’s resolve to do this right and try to get them out of this alive.

It wasn’t going to be easy, not when the Hydra wheeled around after Tony and came straight for them. That, however, meant that Steve was able to get a pretty good look at the underside Nat had thought might hold the key to bringing the monster down. Just as she’d indicated, there were no vibranium scales down there; it looked like the flesh underbelly of any other creature, which meant it was probably the only spot that would be vulnerable. (Well, the only vulnerable spot that wouldn’t regenerate the way its heads would.)

Mentally running through various scenarios in rapid succession—all of which ended in their demise—Steve watched Clint and Sam fire off Conjunctivitis Curses to keep the Hydra busy while he put together the best course of action. Peggy would probably call it a _stupid_ course of action, but she wasn’t exactly here right now, so it was his decision to make. That only served to remind him that he didn’t even know if she was currently _alive_ , however, and he had to shake the thought away as soon as it occurred to him. Now wasn’t the time for that. Grieving the fallen, if she had joined their ranks, would have to wait.

“All right, we need to split up.”

“Excuse me?” deadpanned Nat incredulously. She raised her wand without so much as glancing in her target’s general direction and muttered, “ _Incarcerous_.”

Thick ropes shot out from the tip of her wand, crossed the rapidly decreasing distance between them and the approaching beast, and wrapped themselves tightly around its two front legs until they were tied together. There was a loud screech as it jerked to a stop, weaving from side to side unsteadily until it fell into the building on their left. The ground quaked from the force of the impact and almost sent them reeling once again as cars and people were caught beneath the Hydra’s heavy body. Three sets of angry, narrowed eyes glared in their direction as its claws broke free of their bonds and tore gashes in the asphalt.

Steve blinked, focusing back on his friends to repeat, “We’ll split up. You’re right, Nat—the underside _is_ vulnerable. That means we need enough of a distraction to fire everything we’ve got at it without it taking us all out at once.”

“Okay, so even if that _is_ a weak spot, I don’t think we’ve got enough firepower to break through its skin, man,” pointed out Sam. He followed Nat’s lead and shot another Incarcerous Spell at their foe, but it broke this one even faster as it clawed its way back onto its feet and charged straight for them.

“Then think of whatever you can to break through it!” shouted Steve, grabbing Nat’s arm and pulling her to the side. Sam and Clint dove in the other direction, but it was a near miss: the Hydra just barely passed them, its feet digging holes in the macadam as it whirled around to locate them again.

Cursing, Steve glanced back to see that he and Nat had nowhere left to go from where they were centered in the Hydra’s sights. There was a wall behind them, and they were trapped between the remains of cars and people alike as they tried to find a way around the obstruction. The Hydra didn’t wait: it was rapidly approaching, obviously not looking to crush them so much as gnaw on them until there was nothing left but bones, ground into dust and blown away on the wind.

“Steve, go _up_!” called Nat, aiming her wand at the ground. “ _Ascendio!_ ”

Steve followed suit, but the Hydra’s heads were already posed to strike. He shot right past the center one; the left one, however, caught his foot with its beak and sent him careening straight back into the ground. When he hit the asphalt, it felt like every bone in his body was breaking and he wasn’t sure he could move for the lack of air in his lungs. There was shouting, although he couldn’t tell if it was his friends or the people who were finally getting clear—then there was a claw coming straight for him—

Until it stopped. Peering up at the monster, Steve watched in puzzlement as the Hydra froze for a long moment—not long enough to mean much if you weren’t really _looking_ , but enough for him to start scrambling along the ground to get away.

_What the hell…?_

There wasn’t time to ponder what was happening, however. As soon as he’d put some distance between them, a shot of red hit the Hydra in the right head and effectively caught its attention. Similar spells caught it in various places, all of them futile in the attempt to strike somewhere more vulnerable. The three heads separated, one remaining locked on Steve while the others stretched out as far as they could go to attack his friends as they continued to rain spell after spell down on the Hydra.

Staggering to his feet, Steve covered his mouth and nose when the monster breathed into his face; that alone was almost enough to knock him flat on his ass again. He backed up a few steps, stared up at the monster, and prepared to cast a Conjunctivitis Curse to give him a bit of time to put some distance between them again.

The head didn’t attack him, though. It was staring at him, just… _watching_. As if _he_ was the threat here.

Or maybe as if he was the exact opposite.

 

***

 

_“Hey, Steve?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_A pause. “D’you think…” Another pause, this time accompanied by a heavy, world weary sigh. “Never mind.”_

_Steve paused, looking up from his drawing to see Bucky staring into the middle distance as if nothing around them were real. It had only been a few months since he was outed as_ not _being Yasha Smirnov to the public, and while he’d gotten better about not getting lost in his own head, there were still times when he’d withdraw to the point that even Steve wasn’t able to bring him back for a while. Unsurprisingly, the interview he’d given the_ Prophet _just the week before hadn’t helped the situation much. Winter was curled up in Bucky’s lap, chewing on his fingertip; not even that seemed to get his attention._

_“Bucky? Do I think what?” he prompted gently, waiting for his words to sink in enough for Bucky to realize Steve was speaking to him._

_When he did, he started slightly and focused his eyes back on Steve with a shake of his head. “It’s stupid.”_

_“I’ve learned to expect it from you.”_

_That got a bit of a reaction. Bucky snorted quietly, his eyes more alert than they had been a minute ago as his expression turned pensive again. “Do you think there’s anything after this?”_

_“After school?”_

_“No, you idiot,” sighed Bucky patiently. Steve grinned—Bucky was well aware that Steve knew what he meant, but it was fun to give him shit sometimes regardless._

_“I don’t know,” mused Steve after a few seconds, glancing back down at the picture he’d been drawing of the castle. This time next year, they would be getting ready to graduate. He wanted something to remember Hogwarts by if he never found himself here again. “I mean, I guess it could happen? Mom always says Dad’s looking down on what we’re doing. I believed her for a while, but I’m pretty sure she was just trying to get me to start shaping up by saying that. She believes it, though. I can tell.”_

_“What about you?”_

_Steve shrugged. “I hope there’s something after this. I can’t believe we only get the one life to live and then…that’s it. You know?”_

_Bucky hummed noncommittally but offered no other answer for long enough that Steve wasn’t sure he should bother returning the question. When he decided to anyway, it seemed to cost Bucky something to reply._

_“Part of me hopes there is, too, but…” He shook his head again and stared at the ground guiltily. “Then I remember how shitty the world is and I think…maybe it’s better not to know. Maybe it’s better if, when you…when you die, it’s like going to sleep. You don’t know what you left behind, so you can’t miss it or be upset if something bad happens. It would be more…more peaceful, I guess.”_

_Considering that carefully, Steve couldn’t say he didn’t agree in a sense. His mind lingered on the image of a world where everyone was dead because of him back on Halloween, care of the Bogus Boggart, and the feeling of helplessness he got at being utterly unable to help the people he loved. If that was what it felt like for the dead to watch over the living and see the torment they were suffering, knowing that they could do nothing to help, he wasn’t sure he could disagree with Bucky’s point._

_But there was something else the latter hadn’t thought of either._

_“Maybe it would be more peaceful, but sometimes just knowing they’re there is enough,” he pointed out tentatively, watching as Bucky’s eyes went distant again. “That would make it better, right? Knowing that you’re bringing comfort to someone by watching even though you don’t like what you see?”_

_Bucky was silent for a long time, and Steve wondered if he had even heard a word he said. Right before he decided to return to his drawing, though, he heard the tiniest whisper of a reply._

_“Maybe.”_

 

***

 

“Bucky?”

The creature snarled at him but remained steady. Frowning, Steve took a step forward—it jerked back proportionately. When Steve raised a hand toward it, yellow eyes locked on his; it bared its teeth and hissed. It wasn’t until he showed no sign of stopping that the Hydra snapped at his hand.

Steve didn’t have time to move before something grabbed the back of his robes and hauled him out of the way, sending him sprawling.

“Perhaps it would be best if you did not put your hand there,” T’Challa calmly recommended where he stood like a sentinel between Steve and the Hydra.

“T’Challa!” he exclaimed in relief, realizing that the rest of the backup Nat had thought to call in had finally arrived. “It’s about damn ti—“

His statement was cut off when the head he’d been so mesmerized by darted to the side as the one beside it dove toward them with its jaw wide open to swallow them whole. Now it was Steve’s turn to grab T’Challa by the back of his robes and yank him to the side; both of them landed on the ground, entangled in one another as the head flew straight past them and slammed into a nearby building.

Not wasting a moment, Steve and T’Challa rolled out from beneath it and started running. There were vibrations beneath their feet that told Steve they were being followed. Utterly unconcerned with their assailant gaining on them, T’Challa raised an arm and then lowered it to his side in some sort of signal before shoving Steve into an alley to their left.

Steve half expected the Hydra to immediately corner them in the dead-end they found themselves in, but he was sorely mistaken. When he whipped around, wand raised defensively, it wasn’t to see a beast bearing down on them. Rather, he witnessed an eruption of light and color when a multitude of spells were catapulted at the Hydra from the opposite end of the street. Cautiously, Steve poked his head out of the alley to a sight that made his jaw drop.

The army he’d thought they might need had arrived: a crowd of witches and wizards had gathered, some of whom Steve never would have expected to see.

Jarvis, Skye, and Pietro were there.

Behind them were more than half the professors they’d had at Hogwarts, Fury leading the charge in their assault on the Hydra.

And beyond was every Auror Steve had worked with at the Ministry, Peggy alive and barely scratched at the fore.

Every single one of them was firing spells upon the beast plaguing the city. Every single one of them was relentlessly sending everything they could think of—including the kitchen sink—at this threat to their existence. They advanced, stepping over the dead and quieting the dying who watched with wide, frightened eyes. They fired hexes and curses and jinxes and spells that Steve couldn’t identify in spite of his extensive knowledge of harmful spells.

It wasn’t enough.

The Hydra, all three heads seeing that they were outnumbered, spun around with amazing speed for a creature that size. Its massive tail swept out in a wide arc and took down many of its opponents in one fell swoop. Only a very few, Steve’s friends fortunately included, managed to get out of the way in enough time to avoid being crushed against a building or impaled on the jagged metal of busted cars. Half of them were sent scattering when the monster’s tail returned for another sweep, not moving nearly fast enough for many to avoid being taken to the ground beneath it. No matter how long Tony flew in its face, firing whatever it was that was coming out of his suit at the beast, nothing was working.

Now the Muggles weren’t the ones running—very few wizards and witches stood their ground. Steve recognized Fury, May, Erskine, and Heimdall; Thor was on a nearby roof, having abandoned the one he’d started on because half the building had caved in, and Loki was on the one adjacent to him dropping bricks into the Hydra’s eyes every time it looked up. (Steve rolled his eyes internally—never let it be said that a Squib couldn’t be just as effective as someone with magic.) Sam, Clint, and Nat were dancing around the Hydra’s legs, trying to get a clear shot at its heart.

But the Hydra was too fast and it was too strong and there was nothing they could do that would even slow it down in the slightest before it adapted to their strategy and came right back with something new—

_Or is there?_

Ignoring T’Challa’s shout for him to come back, Steve sprinted out of the alley straight toward the Hydra. He had to duck under the spells that were still shooting his way and even fired off a few of his own—only at the heads that had attacked him, though.

He ran straight for the one that had watched him without moving—the one that had only attacked when it felt threatened by someone as small and insignificant as Steve—the one that had roared at him without actually attacking when Steve dared to climb up its neck to get to the Atrium—

—the one that wasn’t attacking anyone or anything now as it watched him approach, ignoring the actions of its fellows with its eyes focused on a mere human.

Steve dodged beneath one of the other heads, retaliating with a Severing Charm. The answering screech had him smiling in satisfaction as he screeched to a halt beneath the towering head that glared down at him.

“Bucky!” he shouted, knowing he probably sounded crazy to anyone who could hear him. Actually, there was no _probably_ about it—he _definitely_ sounded crazy. “Bucky, you have to listen to me!”

“Steve, what the fuck are you doing?” roared Sam, shooting a curse at the head that was coming up on Steve’s right. Steve ducked but didn’t bother answering aside from a grateful salute, his attention back on the head he thought he knew.

_Please,_ please _let me be right._

“You’ve gotta stop! People are gonna die, Buck—we can’t let that happen!”

Was it just him, or did the head tilt a bit to the side as if it were actually _listening_ to him? Mentally crossing his fingers, Steve let the others cover him against the rest of the beast as he kept himself focused on the task at hand.

“Come on, I know you’re in there—just _think_!”

“Steve, watch it!”

He hit the ground at just the right moment—teeth snapped at the spot where he’d been just seconds before. Then an earsplitting screech tore through the open air and, peering up, Steve saw that both Thor and Loki had jumped on the Hydra’s back simultaneously. Thor was literally pulling the head back from Steve with his bare hands while Loki threw knives into the eyes of the other hostile one.

Scrambling back to his feet, Steve looked up to see that he was still the center of the third head’s attention. _That’s him, it has to be._

“You know me,” he breathed, the head dipping almost imperceptibly closer in an imitation of someone trying to hear better. There was another roar, an aborted movement as a claw shot towards Steve only to be yanked back at the last second. “You’ve known me your whole life. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, and I’m not gonna fight you. You’re my friend.”

For the briefest moment, Steve thought he saw something almost _human_ flash through the eyes locked on his own. He didn’t have a chance to take a closer look, though. He didn’t have a chance to do much of anything as the head in Thor’s grasp finally got loose, both it and the other hostile one setting their sights on Steve and diving straight at him.

The head that had been listening to him speak all this time hissed and ducked down—to join them or to stop them was anyone’s guess, but Steve knew which one he _hoped_ it was—

Steve didn’t bother trying to move, already knowing it was too late—

“ _Sectumsempra!_ ”

Everything seemed to move in slow motion: Nat shouting at him to drop, T’Challa coming in out of nowhere to distract the heads with a few choice spells, the wide gash opening in the Hydra’s chest while Jarvis’s shocked yet determined face watched in horrified satisfaction…

Then the moment caught up with them.

Steve hit the ground.

A shield appeared above him from Nat’s spell.

T’Challa dove to the side.

All three heads crashed into the ground in a pool of the creature’s own blood.

Claws jerked and spasmed in a final, futile attempt to take out whoever they could.

And it was melting: silver scales were liquefying into molten puddles in the street. Steam rose into the air as the heat of the Hydra’s blood met the cool vibranium. Its body turned gaseous then liquid then solid then some unknown, unreal combination of all three until it all wafted away with the fresh breeze. Steve had to close his eyes and hold his breath against the stench rising from the nightmare, threatening to smother them all.

When he was able to see again, it was to find himself surrounded by more bodies than one would find in a graveyard.

The street was littered with them, and it wasn’t just the Muggles and fleeing Ministry visitors that were lying dead or maimed on the pavement. Wizards and witches in red robes were stained an even deeper shade with the blood coating their clothes and skin. Those whose eyes were open stared blankly up at the sky, unable to see the failure of their endeavor. The others couldn’t look less like they were sleeping, their limbs sprawled around them at grotesquely inappropriate angles. Not far from him were Pierce and Rumlow, lying right where the two heads that had tried to attack him had been when Jarvis’s spell made contact. The former was on his back, staring into the eternity that awaited him in what Steve could only hope was the deepest circle of Hell.

Rumlow had fared far worse. In the chaos, Steve had just barely noticed that one of the spells T’Challa had used was a Fire-Making Spell, and it was obvious that it made contact mid-transformation. The skin on Rumlow’s face was mottled and scarred, dripping off in melted strips to expose the bones beneath. His clothes were still smoldering even as they soaked up the bloody pool surrounding him.

But they could rot for all Steve cared. They’d gotten their wish—they’d unleashed the monster that had the power to crush Muggles flat. They’d died believing that their cause was right even though they hadn’t counted on one thing: the cleverness and determination of those willing to tell them they were _wrong_.

All of that was unimportant right now, however, because Steve’s eyes scanned over the bodies until they came to rest on a familiar figure nearly hidden underneath the corpses that had fallen across it.

Slipping and sliding and covered in red, Steve shoved past T’Challa’s helpful hand and made a beeline straight for Bucky. He unceremoniously threw the other bodies off to the side without realizing that most of his friends had joined him in his efforts, his hands much weaker and shakier than he’d been aware of until just that moment. It took longer than it should have for them to free Bucky and roll him over onto his back.

“Buck?” whispered Steve, shaking him roughly despite the warnings he was receiving.

_He could be hurt—he could have broken bones—you shouldn’t move him yet—be careful—_

It was all just the buzzing of flies as Steve panicked because _he wasn’t waking up_. There was no rise and fall of his chest, and when Steve pressed his fingers to Bucky’s neck, he detected no pulse.

“Bucky, wake up… Please, Buck, wake up… _Please_ …”


	17. Risen From the Requiem

_“Come on, darling. It’s time to wake up.”_

_Cold fingers tucked the long strands of hair he really needed to cut in the near future behind his ears. It felt like his eyes were cemented closed, however, and he couldn’t open them to see who was gently petting his head as he slowly drifted into awareness. His entire state of being was confusing: he was lying down but felt nothing beneath him. It wasn’t cold or warm or anything at all. There was no light beyond his eyelids, but it wasn’t dark either. It was akin to walking the blurred line between sleeping and waking, where he felt just this side of lucid but very little else._

_The only thing that truly seemed real were the fingers in his hair, cold and barely there like the whisper of a breeze in the dead of summer._

_Bucky turned his head into that sensation, sighing deeply. Nothing hurt here. Wherever_ here _was. He had no memory of what he’d been doing or where he’d been; all he knew was the way he felt right now. All he had was this moment—this safe moment. Real or dream, fact or fiction—he didn’t want it to end either way._

_“Don’t give me that pout. Come on, now. Everyone’s waiting for you.”_

_His eyebrows contracted in recognition, but his eyes still refused to budge so that he could look up and make this moment real._

_“Mom?” he hoarsely called out, knowing it was ridiculous the moment the word left his lips. Was it four years or forty since she’d gone away? Since she’d taken his father and sister with her? It simultaneously seemed so long yet no time at all._

_There was a soft shushing sound, the fingers in his hair continuing in their gentle rhythm. “It’s all right, baby. You’re safe now.”_

_He wanted to tell her this wasn’t real, that she didn’t have to say that. He wanted to ignore her and what he now knew had to be a dream—but then why didn’t it_ feel _like one? Against his better judgment, which was a bit slow on the uptake right now anyway, he whispered, “Am I… Am I dead?”_

_A much larger hand closed over his own as another voice told him, “No, Buck. You’re going to be fine.”_

_“Dad?”_

_There was a wordless hum. Bucky felt his chest rising and falling more rapidly as his breath hitched. Why wouldn’t his eyes open? If this were real, he wanted to see them! He wanted—_

_“Stop it, darling,” ordered his mother’s voice. Her fingers abandoned his hair to lightly brush over his eyelids, halting him in his renewed attempts to pry them open. “Don’t open your eyes.”_

_“Why?” He wasn’t too proud to admit that he was whining. It held no shame for him right now. Whatever was happening, wherever he was, it didn’t matter. He could be dreaming or hallucinating or really here on the edge of death itself and it_ wouldn’t fucking matter because he just wanted to see his mom and dad _._

_“Because you’re not supposed to be here,” his dad quietly explained, his grip on Bucky’s hand tightening. “Not yet.”_

_That brought him up short. “…Where…?”_

_His mother softly shushed him again. “You just have to trust us, all right? I probably don’t deserve it, but just once more, darling.”_

_Bucky didn’t have an answer for that. All he could do was push his head back into her palm in a silent request; any doubt in his mind that this was his mother vanished immediately when she returned to stroking his hair. As the hush stretched between them, things began to come back to Bucky. He vaguely recalled little things, like discussing Pierce’s offer with T’Challa and Tatiana on Steve’s birthday and how achingly tired he’d been for so long it was almost as though he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t feel like gravity alone was too strong for him to survive. There were other things as well, feelings and images that weren’t familiar but he knew to have happened: a chair, searing pain in every inch of his body, the insidious growth of something suspiciously_ other _in his own head until it was making more of his decisions than_ he _was._

 _“I fucked up, didn’t I?” he asked, unable to push his voice higher than a whisper. He still couldn’t dig deep enough to find what had happened before he popped into existence here, but he knew it couldn’t be good from the things he_ could _recall._

_For a minute, no one said anything, and Bucky would have been afraid that his parents were gone if not for the fact that his mom was still stroking his head while his dad continued to hold his hand. When his father spoke, there was a well of sadness in his tone that even the terrible things they’d gone through in life hadn’t managed to evoke in him before._

_“Nothing that happened was your fault. You did your best, and that’s what matters.”_

_“But something bad happened anyway?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Bucky’s sigh was tremulous at best, and he couldn’t deny that if his eyes were open, there would be tears in them. As it were, he already felt them seeping out between his eyelashes. “I just wanted to do what was right.”_

_“And you did,” his mom reassured him. He shook his head._

_“But it wasn’t enough, was it? I don’t even know what happened, but I couldn’t stop it. Never can…”_

_“James Buchanan Barnes, you listen to me,” his mother’s stern voice interrupted his self-flagellating. When she was sure she had his attention, she continued, “Sometimes we try to accomplish things and think that going in with nothing but good intentions is going to change anything. Some of the time, that works. More often than not, there is so much more working against us than we realize. The key isn’t to let that stop you. When things go wrong, when something happens that you didn’t expect, you get back up and try again. And you keep trying until the bad things don’t seem so terrible anymore.”_

_“Like you tried to do?” Bucky didn’t mean to make his question sound as accusatory as he knew it did._

_There was a pause that told him it hadn’t been lost on his mom. “Like I tried to do,” she confirmed in quiet recognition. “Because I had people in my life worth_ trying _for. It was more important than letting my failures consume me and force me to quit. I wanted to make a better world for you and your sister. So I kept at it, and no, nothing happened the way I planned. I will_ always _regret that my choices meant leaving you alone, but…I can’t say I wouldn’t make the same decision again if I had to.”_

_“I think what your mother is trying to say is that you can’t blame yourself for not being able to stop something,” his father clarified in the same tone he always adopted when Bucky’s mother got long-winded and tended to lose them all in making her point. “You blame the people who did it in the first place, and that’s not you. Everything that happened would have been the same with or without you. The fact that you tried to stop it is more important than the fact that it didn’t really work out. Don’t take more on your shoulders than you deserve, Buck. You’ve always had a problem with that.”_

_Bucky couldn’t help chuckling breathlessly—that was the same thing Steve, Sarah, Nat, and pretty much everyone else he knew had been telling him for years. It never really made him feel any better, but hearing it from his dad? It sort of helped ease the knot of tension that had been growing in his chest._

_“What’s going to happen now?” he murmured after a slight hesitation, unable to address his father’s comments no matter how hard he tried to find the words. It wouldn’t matter to his parents: they knew he needed time to come to terms with that, and there was no one else—alive or dead—who was more likely to give him that._

_His mother sighed, running her fingers over his forehead. “Well, first of all, you’re going to go back where you belong. After that… I’m afraid I don’t know, darling.”_

_Her words hit him like diving into cold water in the middle of winter, and he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “But I’d have to leave you here.”_ Wherever here is.

_“Yeah, you will,” his dad agreed, squeezing his fingers gently._

_“This is the part where he says something sappy about always being with you_ right here _,” teased a third voice lightly, a slight pressure on Bucky’s chest indicating that a small finger was pressing against his heart._

_No longer attempting to stem the flow of tears from beneath his eyelids, Bucky laughed wetly at his sister’s sarcastic remark. “Well, I mean, we watched a lot of Disney growing up, so can you blame him, Becs?”_

_There was a snort as Becca replied, “They need to get out more.”_

_“If only,” was their father’s dry reply. His mom chortled on his other side._

_For the first time in years, Bucky felt complete—in spite of the contentment he felt in the presence of his chosen family and friends, this was_ different _. He wanted more than anything to just stay here forever, but he could already feel the pull of something he couldn’t quite identify telling him that this wasn’t where he was supposed to be. It was like losing track of time at a restaurant until the owner came over to tell you it was closing time. The only difference was that he couldn’t come back tomorrow or this weekend—when he left, he had no doubt it would be a long time before he made it back here again._

 _He didn’t realize he’d started crying more openly until his mother made a soft, soothing noise beside him. “It’ll be all right, baby,” she whispered. A moment later, he felt the cold press of lips against his forehead. She could have just been tucking him into bed. “I’ll admit the cliché, but we_ will _always be with you.”_

_“And we love you so much,” his dad chimed in, his other hand finding the top of Bucky’s head._

_Becca didn’t say anything, but he could feel her hugging him around the middle._

_His mother’s voice was fading fast as she told him, “Don’t ever forget that.”_

_Bucky nodded, memorizing the feeling of having his family around him one last time and the final goodbye they’d never gotten._

_“I won’t,” he swore, sensing the distance between them growing as he whispered that he loved them and fell into the void._

 

***

 

Sensations were the first thing to return to Bucky. He was warm. A dim light was filtering in through his eyelids. Someone was holding his hand. He was in a great deal of pain.

Cataloging all of his body parts, Bucky wasn’t able to discern where the throbbing aches were originating from. They seemed to be issuing from every pore of his skin—the muscles in his arms and legs were sore, his fingers stung as if they were covered in millions of paper cuts, there was a pulling sensation on his chest, and weakness pervaded everything so that he couldn’t move. Perhaps the only part of him that wasn’t in some sort of agony was his head. For once, that was clearer than he would have anticipated so soon after waking.

The next thing he became aware of was that he was lying down on something soft but not _quite_ as soft as his bed at home. The blankets were some sort of itchy cotton material as opposed to the fleece he normally used, and they weren’t long enough to drape far over both ends of the bed; he could feel a chilly breeze sneaking up under the edge to cool his skin.

It took a few tries, but when he was finally able to open his eyes, he saw that he was in bed in a room that certainly wasn’t his own. It was far too clinical, and Bucky recognized right away that it was a hospital room. The bed had rails on the sides so that he wouldn’t roll off; the head of the mattress was propped upward so that he wasn’t lying completely flat. Once he managed to marginally angle his head to the side, he saw that there was a bedside table bereft of get-well cards the way you usually saw in a hospital. Instead the space was taken up by one thing only: his chain of dog tags and rings.

Frowning, Bucky weakly glanced around the room. The blinds on the window were drawn, but he could tell that it must be nighttime from the lack of illumination on the other side. The only light in the room came from a standing lamp near the door, casting long shadows across his friends where they were arranged in all manner of strange positions. Sarah was in the seat by his bed; she was the one holding his hand while she slept with her head propped up on the back of the chair. Tatiana and Mikhail were also in uncomfortable plastic chairs while the rest were scattered on the floor. Not everyone was there, but Bucky was vaguely surprised at the ones who had no reason to be in this part of the _world_ much less his hospital room. (He still needed to figure out why the hell he was in one at all.) Steve was sprawled out in the corner by the window fast asleep, Peggy beside him with her head on his shoulder. Opposite them, Clint was propped up by the nightstand with Nat using his lap as a pillow. Sam and T’Challa were out cold, leaning back to back against the far wall. Jarvis was the only one with a blanket, but it appeared that he had shared with Wanda and Skye, who were curled into a ball on the floor beside him and Pietro.

Bucky wondered briefly if he should wake one of them up and find out why the hell they were all sleeping on the floor, but the mere thought of it was exhausting and his throat was too parched to make a sound. Besides, something far more important caught his attention.

Winter was wedged between his right arm and his chest—and she wasn’t asleep. Her big eyes were staring straight at him, unexpectedly cautious as she observed him in silence. Despite his confusion at her attitude, Bucky couldn’t help smiling a little (and boy, did _that_ kill the muscles in his face, _holy shit_ ) and strained to get his arm to move. It was difficult at first and took a few minutes before he finally got it to cooperate enough to place his hand against her back. Once there, he could at least manage to scratch her fur lightly without having to move too much.

Whatever her problem had been, it vanished as soon as he did that and Winter immediately crawled up to rub her face against his cheek affectionately. She must have sensed how much pain he was in, because she didn’t try to hop up on his chest the way she normally would to curl into his neck; she licked and nuzzled at his face from where she was still settled in the crook of his arm instead, obviously excited and showing it as best she could regardless.

“Hey,” he croaked, the sound scratchy and nearly inaudible to his own ears. It drove Winter mad nonetheless, and she hopped over his shoulder to lay down on his pillow, wrapping her body around his head and poking her own under his jaw the opposite way.

Bucky couldn’t help chuckling under his breath, already feeling his eyelids drooping from the exertion of staying awake. He didn’t bother trying to fight the pull of the tide, not even when he saw Steve twitch in his direction.

 

***

 

The next time Bucky woke, his head cleared quicker and he felt a bit more rested than he had before. There was light on the other side of the blinds now, and most of his friends were gone. The only ones left in the room were Sarah, Steve, and the Petrovs. That was probably to be expected: Nat would be running S.H.I.E.L.D. in his absence and the others had lives to get back to, especially T’Challa. They couldn’t exactly spend every waking moment here with him and shirk all their other responsibilities.

Which begged the question: _why isn’t Steve at work?_

He would have to wait for an answer, because the four were deep in conversation. They didn’t appear to know that he was awake, which he considered changing until Winter poked her nose into his cheek. Then it became far more desirable to just scratch her head while she purred quietly beside him.

“There was no one else to find,” Steve was telling the others with a grim expression. “Peggy said whoever’s left is working on it, but there’s a lot to clean up first, so that’s the priority. After that, we can start looking for any stragglers.”

Tatiana shook her head with a disgusted expression. “Do you honestly believe that they all died with the monster?”

Shrugging, Steve answered, “Maybe? There had to have been millions of those coins. If they were all attached to a Hydra member…”

Something in Bucky’s chest tingled at those words, and a memory swam to the front of his mind of a featureless silver coin in his messenger bag that he could neither determine the origin nor seem to dispose of. He didn’t recognize it, but then he’d seen all sorts of memories he didn’t recall forming when he was…

_Was that…real?_

He hoped it was. It certainly _felt_ like it was, more than any other dream or hallucination he’d had over the years.

By the time he tuned in to the conversation again, they’d moved on. Sarah, more tired than he’d ever seen her even after all the times he’d woken up to find her by his bed in the hospital wing, was staring out the window. “Has anyone said who’s going to be acting Minister yet?”

“So far, they’re still trying to figure out who’s the highest ranking official left at the Ministry,” Steve sighed, huffing out something that sounded almost like a laugh. It was incongruous with the serious expression on his face. “The _Prophet_ says the Muggle Prime Minister is going to take over for a while. It’s not like she doesn’t know about our world anyway.”

“I can imagine how well that will go over,” mused Mikhail.

“Well, it’s not like anyone can really complain unless they’ve got a better idea. The Ministry’s a hole in the ground—literally—so I don’t think there’s a whole lot any of us can do for a while.”

“And they found the Undersecretary too?”

“Yeah, with everyone else out on the street. Go figure.”

Mikhail’s eyes hardened. “I always knew there was something wrong with Karpov, even when he was an Auror.”

“At least we don’t have to worry about him anymore,” Tatiana comforted him with a bolstering smile. There were dark circles under both their eyes to rival Sarah’s.

Bucky frowned. _What the hell…?_

“Wha’appened t’im?” he slurred through his parched throat, wincing at the raw feeling when he swallowed.

Four heads immediately whipped around in his direction, and then they were on him. Sarah’s hands were framing his face as she stared down at him, and Tatiana fussed with his blankets to make sure he was covered up against the cool air that came in under the edges anyway. Mikhail moved to the head of the bed to observe him in silence; it was like he might be watching for steam to start pouring out of Bucky’s ears. None of them seemed to be able to find words, not even Steve where he was standing at the foot of the bed with his mouth hanging open a bit. Bucky probably should have taken that opportunity to ask what was going on, why he was in the hospital, what the hell had happened at the Ministry to put them in what sounded like a complete shambles— _something_. Instead he just stared around at them while they made sure he was comfortable. Winter, clearly sensing his unease as always, slipped down from where she’d been curled up on his pillow to wedge herself back between his chest and arm with a quietly comforting sound.

The noise seemed to snap the others out of it and Sarah asked, “How are you feeling?”

Bucky opened his mouth to answer then paused to think about it. He didn’t hurt quite as badly as he had the last time he was awake, but he was certainly uncomfortable at the same time. The weakness in his limbs was gone; they were sore and the pulling at the skin on his chest was still there, but otherwise he felt a lot better. His brain was growing foggy again, but he just felt _tired_ , not bone-weary the way he had before.

“I…think I’m okay?” he eventually replied once he’d cleared some of the residual grogginess from his throat, not sure why he framed it as a question. When Sarah’s eyebrows contracted in concern, he hastened to reassure her, “Just kinda tired. Sore.”

“That’s probably normal,” she murmured, glancing up at Mikhail on the other side of the bed. They didn’t say a word, communicating silently with their eyes; Mikhail nodded after a moment and quickly left the room. Sarah looked back down at him with a strained smile to say, “Just try to relax. Everything’s going to be all right.”

That was…an odd thing to say. Of course, Bucky knew that he probably should be worried by the fact that he was in the hospital and wasn’t sure why, but he just couldn’t bring himself to feel the dread or curiosity. Her reassurance was comforting but unnecessary since he hadn’t quite processed what was happening yet.

When he asked, however, no one answered. They told him it could wait, whatever _it_ was. They said that it would be better if he tried not to think too hard about anything other than getting better but refused to tell him what was wrong with him in the first place. He knew he was aching, which he had been able to say when he’d broken his back and gotten poisoned by the lobalug in school; he knew he was tired, which he could _also_ compare with those experiences. For all he knew, he’d just gotten a bad flu, even though he knew that couldn’t be true. Despite his lack of recollection of anything before he’d woken up here, he _could_ remember the conversation he’d had with his parents, whether it was real or not. They’d said something bad happened, something that he couldn’t stop. Whatever it was probably had a hand in putting him in St. Mungo’s, not that he was likely to find out for sure if they kept coddling him as such.

When Mikhail returned, he brought a Healer with him. She had kind eyes with an inharmoniously stern visage, her dark skin accentuated against the bright lime green robes she wore. The others stepped aside and let her work, checking his vitals and asking him questions about how he felt. Bucky answered to the best of his ability, but there were things she wanted to know that he was drawing a blank on. The whole _what’s the last thing you remember_ line of questioning was never going to go well, and he was simply confused by the _can you say where you went last time_ stuff. Given that this was the first time he remembered being a patient here, he had no idea what _last time_ she was even talking about. If he thought his answers would unnerve or disappoint her, though, he was mistaken. Instead it appeared that she had expected much of what he was saying—the things he didn’t remember, the way his body fought him on every move, the lingering weariness that made the corners of his eyes itch, all of it.

Whatever he had, it was apparently something that couldn’t be healed overnight. The Healer, who eventually remembered to tell him her name was Claire Temple, informed him that they would be keeping him under observation for at least a few days to ensure that all of his symptoms were cleared up before leaving him in the company of the Rogers and Petrov clans.

“Is someone _finally_ gonna tell me what’s going on?” he grumbled, sinking down lower under his blankets even though it hurt to do so. When he grunted in discomfort, Winter mewled sadly and licked at his arm as if that would solve all his problems. He gladly braved the pain to lift his hand and scratch her head—she was _trying_.

Sarah shot Steve a meaningful glance and gestured to the Petrovs. “I don’t know about you, but I could use Starbucks. I think these two have a lot to talk about.”

Tatiana looked like she might be about to protest, but Mikhail put a hand on the small of her back and nodded in agreement for both of them. Meanwhile, Bucky felt his stomach plummeting to the region of his feet: what happened had to be pretty bad if _Sarah_ didn’t even want to be here for it.

As soon as they were gone, a tense and uncomfortable silence descended between Bucky and Steve that had him wondering if Sarah had left for a different reason altogether. The last time Steve had looked so reluctant to meet his eyes was when they were eleven years old and he’d gotten himself in a fight with Hodge, one of the few that Bucky _hadn’t_ been able to pull him out of. Seeing the same expression on the bigger, older version of his best friend was both nostalgic and unnerving at the same time. Bucky didn’t rush him, though. If his fingers tightened a bit in Winter’s fur when his anxiety began to increase, however, she mercifully wouldn’t tell anyone.

After a few minutes, Steve managed to remove his gaze from the floor long enough to slowly lower himself into the chair Sarah had been sleeping in the first time Bucky had woken up. He reached out a hand and idly toyed with Winter’s monkey, which Bucky hadn’t realized until that moment was laying abandoned near her tail. The moment stretched on until Bucky thought he would burst.

“Just say it, Steve,” he whispered, cringing at how loud his voice sounded in the dead silence of the room. “Whatever it is, just tell me. Please?”

Steve’s eyes flicked up to his with a crease between his eyebrows. It looked like he was trying to figure out how to say whatever it was without making it seem like it was Bucky’s fault—although that may have been a residual feeling from Bucky’s dream or whatever it was.

Clearing his throat, Steve sighed before quietly asserting, “It’s my fault.”

_…What._

“What’s your fault?” questioned Bucky, puzzled. Steve’s eyes went right back to studiously examining the monkey’s synthetic fur.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Bucky was getting tired of these kinds of questions after Healer Temple had drilled him for information, but he bit back his irritation with little difficulty in the face of Steve’s guilt. Closing his eyes, Bucky attempted to bring forward anything concrete—he remembered his parents, and he remembered Steve’s birthday party. After that, things were fuzzy at best.

“I think…I remember going to the Ministry and telling Pierce I was gonna think about his offer,” he slowly described, frowning in concentration. “There’s other stuff after that, but it doesn’t really make sense. I’m not sure if it even happened.”

Steve glanced at him and requested, “Tell me?”

It was difficult, but Bucky did it anyway. He explained about the chair he’d seen in whatever fever dream he’d been having while he was out cold and the way he could distantly recall excruciating pain throughout his body that almost put the Splinching incident to shame. He described the silver coin he thought had been in his messenger bag, which Steve all but confirmed as real when his face paled at the mere mention of the coin, and how he never seemed to be able to get rid of it. He admitted to the frequent memory lapses and inability to explain where he’d been during his days. None of the recollections behind those assertions were based on any vivid, clear memories in his head. He spoke and simply _knew_ it was true; his skin remembered even when his mind could not.

As open as Bucky was, Steve returned the favor. It almost reached the point where Bucky was hoping he would pull a few punches and leave things out, but Steve respected him far too much for that. He went into excruciating detail about finding Bucky unconscious on the floor in their apartment, taking him to St. Mungo’s, and no one being able to tell what was wrong with him. He outlined the entirety of his absence: Jarvis’s discovery about the money being funneled into the Department of Mysteries, Bucky vanishing from the hospital (they apparently still didn’t know how it happened), finding Hydra’s accounts, locating Zola, and realizing what the Minister had planned. Bucky felt his stomach turn and was almost physically ill when Steve informed him that the _Prophet_ had written about his apparent agreement with the need to separate their world from that of the Muggles.

He _was_ violently ill when Steve told him about the chair—the coins—becoming a _monster_. Steve sprinted into the bathroom attached to his hospital suite and returned with a garbage can in record time so that Bucky didn’t get vomit all over himself and the floor. There wasn’t much in his stomach, but it didn’t appear to matter as his body ejected anything and everything it could. In a sense, it was like he was purging any last vestiges of the demon he’d been forced to harbor, and by the time his stomach settled, he felt wrung out and shaky.

Steve only continued the story after about a million reassurances that he was all right, that he could handle it, although Bucky felt blindsided by the fact that he’d _actually died_.

“You weren’t breathing, I…I couldn’t find a pulse,” whispered Steve, staring through Bucky as if seeing him the way he must have been almost a week ago now, corpselike and cold. “I thought you were gone. We all did, but then…then you just started coughing and you were _alive_ and…it had been _ten minutes_ , we couldn’t figure it out—the Healers don’t know what happened either…”

“It was my parents,” blurted out Bucky, realization suddenly dawning on him. When Steve peered at him as though he might be losing his mind, Bucky elaborated, “When I was… _out_ , I… Okay, it’s gonna sound weird, but I _promise_ I’m not crazy, you’ve gotta believe me, Steve.”

For a split second, it appeared that Steve wasn’t about to make any promises about that. Then it passed and he nodded resolutely, ready to accept anything Bucky told him even if he said the sky was now purple and the grass was magenta.

“Mom and Dad—and Becca—they…they were _there_ , and they said something bad happened… I-I couldn’t _see_ them, but I _know_ they were there—Mom told me not to open my eyes, that I didn’t _belong_ there, and I still don’t know where that was but she said not to look and I didn’t but they said something bad had happened and I n-needed to come…to come back…then they…they were gone…and…”

Bucky let his rambling trail off, his eyes closing as he fought to remember those last sensations in a place he still couldn’t understand: the love and the understanding and the _belonging_ of being with his family again even though there was that underlying knowledge that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. And it had been so _real_ , even if it was only a dream—but it hadn’t felt like a dream at all.

He didn’t realize he’d murmured that aloud until Steve sighed, “I don’t think it was a dream, Buck.”

Blinking his eyes open, Bucky asked a little too hopefully, “You don’t?”

A pause. “Zola and Pierce told us a lot about what they’d done, what they’d been planning for _years_. Those coins—they didn’t just hold Schmidt’s…I don’t know, _essence_ or whatever you want to call it. That’s where everything they stole from the people they killed—those kids in Belgium, the ones from Bebington, your family—that’s where they kept it. T’Challa and I talked about it, and we know that vibranium doesn’t have magical properties, but it’s a good _container_ for them. It’s the strongest metal on earth, and they used it to hold in all that power until they could unleash what Schmidt passed on and use it all to bring back the Hydra. Your parents and Becca…they would have been in there too. Maybe it wasn’t _all_ them, but like an echo made from the parts of them that _were_ there?”

“Ghosts,” clarified Bucky quietly, staring down at his hands. Winter was pushing her head into his palm, and he absentmindedly stroked her fur. It was grounding. “But if everyone they used for that spell died—even Pierce and Rumlow—why am I still here?”

Steve fell silent for a minute or two, biting the inside of his cheek as he pondered the question. When he spoke, he warned Bucky, “I’m just guessing here.”

Huffing something like a laugh, Bucky nodded in acknowledgement. It felt like he was in Divination class: everything was _possible_ , but there was no way to _prove_ any of it.

“I’m thinking when Jarvis cut through the Hydra’s heart—“ _Ain’t_ that _a fucking surprise, what the hell, Jarvis?_ “—everyone was _supposed_ to die. Everything it took to make that spell work and bring back the Hydra should have destroyed everyone involved when it failed. But if you’re saying your family was there, when _technically_ they shouldn’t have been…maybe they did something that bounced you back here.”

_“Stop it, darling. Don’t open your eyes.”_

Blinking, Buck surmised, “Like blocking me from going…wherever you go after you die.”

“Right. It sorta makes sense—you’re the only person who lived through it.”

That caught Bucky’s attention. “What about the kids? Are the—“

“They’re fine,” Steve hastened to quell his concern. “We checked in on them right after it happened. The ones who hadn’t been with Hydra as long are fine. The ones who couldn’t be saved were the ones who died months ago. The others are okay.”

Bucky pulled in a tremulous breath and nodded as he released it, closing his eyes momentarily. _At least they’re okay. That’s all I wanted when this started anyway._

“So… So, what about all the other Hydra assholes?” he inquired after collecting himself. “Did they go all in, or are they still out there?”

“We’re not sure,” sighed Steve, sitting back in his chair with Winter’s monkey in his lap. “We’ve had to be so focused on what’s happening _here_ that we haven’t had a chance to get that far. There’s no one in charge anymore. The Ministry’s _literally_ gone and the Muggles are freaking out…” He shrugged helplessly. “There’s not much we can do. My guess is, if there _are_ any of them left, it won’t be many and they’ll be scattered.”

Bucky nodded, not liking the outcome but understanding that that was the best they had right now. There would be no way to tell if someone was Hydra—as much as he’d always hated Pierce, Bucky had never thought he was one of them. If there _was_ anyone left, they might never be found. Their leadership was gone, though, as was all their power. The Hydra itself was truly dead this time (and Bucky hated thinking that _Schmidt_ was the one who had lain in _his_ grave beside _his_ family), as were its representatives in Britain at the very least. For now, that was enough. It had to be.

They talked well into the afternoon, Steve filling Bucky in on some of the finer details of what had happened. It was still unfathomable to him that Jarvis was capable of casting such a dark spell, but despite Steve’s admittance that Jarvis wasn’t all too pleased with himself over it, Bucky couldn’t be prouder. It was something he would have to talk to Jarvis about the next time they spoke, which would hopefully be sooner rather than later since Jarvis didn’t exactly have a job to worry about anymore.

It honestly didn’t surprise him at all that Tony had been the one to indirectly figure everything out with that bug he’d given them, although it mildly frightened him to see that Tony was capable of some pretty nasty stuff aside from just pranks. That was _also_ something they would need to have a talk about.

And then, of course, there was the _suit_.

“I thought he was fucking _joking_ about that!” exclaimed Bucky, wincing at the twinge of pain in his chest as his stitches pulled.

Jarvis’s spell hadn’t just affected the big beastie: the gash in Bucky’s chest, according to Steve, had stubbornly refused to close with only dittany as the remedy, and the Healers had to resort to some Muggle methods in order to save his life after his parents gave them a head start. Bucky had no doubt Steve was right about that fact and truly believed that his family was the only reason he was alive right now, blocking his entrance into whatever happened after death so that he could have more time the way they’d always fought to give him.

“Apparently not,” snorted Steve with a long-suffering roll of his eyes. “He was _flying_. No broom, nothing. Just flying around, shooting spells out of his hands. Seriously, as soon as you’re better, we’re going down there and figuring out how the hell he did that.”

Bucky wholeheartedly agreed, and if he didn’t tell Steve that he might be asking Tony how one would go about acquiring one of those nifty suits for themselves, that was between him and his conscience.

 

***

 

It took a few days before the Healers decided that he was well enough to go home—after the stitches had been removed and he’d drunk so many potions he’d lost count and gone through more tests than he could possibly recall the purposes of. His friends had trickled in here and there, but they didn’t arrive en masse the way they had when he’d first woken up after the entire ordeal. It was better that way, much as Bucky hated to admit that he was anything less than ecstatic to see his friends: he was already on sensory overload with all the catching up he had to do (because he’d been out of commission for nearly a fucking month and was going out of his mind), so the presence of a large group in such a confined space would be more than overwhelming. Thankfully, he had excellent friends who knew that without having to be told.

That didn’t mean, however, that they were above throwing him a huge welcome home party when he got out.

Bucky burst out laughing the second he walked through the front door: they didn’t shout _surprise_ or anything like that, but there was a banner hanging across the living room and balloons everywhere for Winter to tackle when he eventually released her from his arms. From the glimpse he got into the kitchen, he could tell there was food spread over every surface to accommodate their numbers; the smell of Sarah’s peanut butter cookies and Tatiana’s piroshki was already wafting through the air, which told him exactly where they’d slipped off to when they abandoned him earlier that day. What made him laugh, however, was that everyone wore matching goofy grins while holding stuffed cats of varying colors with little bows tied around their necks.

“Well, Winter deserves a break after the shit she puts up with, so we thought we could get you some placeholders,” explained Clint with a snarky smile.

Winter made her opinion of that quite obvious by scratching his arm, shoving the toy cat that had been dumped in Bucky’s hands to the side, and curling up in his lap with an expression that clearly said _Mine_.

That evening was full of laughter and relaxing. No one pushed Bucky to do anything, which was fantastic because he still wasn’t moving so well even though he’d been given a clean bill of health. He continued to experience aching in his chest and his muscles tired more quickly than usual, but there was no reason for him to stay in the hospital. Healer Temple had been stern in her warning that he needed to take it easy, and his friends fully intended to make him do so even if, as Sarah had so kindly put it, they had to tie him to the couch for another month.

So he didn’t overexert himself. He didn’t try to get up and help with food or even grab his own plate since Nat appeared adamant to do it for him. Tatiana and Sarah fussed over him the way they had for the last few days in St. Mungo’s, and Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly when Bucky insisted it was further proof that they liked him better. (It _was_.) They put on movies and played games that didn’t require a whole lot of movement (and that weren’t fucking _Pictionary_ ), and the conversation lasted well into the late hours of the night.

Bucky was thoroughly exhausted from all the socializing by the time he retreated to his room just before midnight with Winter in his arms and his legs feeling weighed down by nothing more than gravity. Everyone except Sarah had gone home after some more heartfelt and teary goodbyes than normal; Steve was being a good son and relinquished his bed to his mother, sleeping on the couch in their wrecked living room (which they decided to worry about straightening up in the morning).

As Bucky collapsed on his own bed with a sigh of relief, Winter hopping down to curl up on his pillow, he pulled the chain from around his neck and gently ran a finger over his family’s heirlooms. His dad’s dog tags, his mom’s wedding ring, and his sister’s silver ring all winked up at him in the light of his lamp, a reminder of all he’d lost but also all he’d gained—and the promise he’d made.

Smiling, Bucky nodded his head in silent affirmation of his vow as he set aside the chain for the night and got into bed. His family was gone, yes, but they were also still with him. He would always have them in his mind and in his heart, along with all the friends he had who cared enough to risk their lives for him. Winter purred in his ear, and he reached up to take her paw in hand.

And when he drifted off to sleep, he was smiling and whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although Bucky won't know it for sure and can only assume, the energy belonging to his family that was released when the Hydra was destroyed gave his family's souls (or whatever afterlife variant you prefer to call it) enough power to essentially push him back from the brink into his body long enough for the Healers to save his life. That's why they had that brief interaction before Bucky was pulled back to the real world.
> 
> A little over two months and well over three hundred thousand words later, we're just about to the end of the main story. To those of you who have stuck around, thank you so much for reading and your feedback. I hope you enjoy the finale tomorrow and will continue to watch for one-shots and prompts to be updated in "Days Gone By!" :)


	18. The New World Order (2017)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the time jump!

Bucky squinted down at the note cards in his hand incredulously. “Who the hell wrote this?”

“The speech writer Pepper decided to hire for me,” replied Tony, reclining back in a plush leather desk chair that came with the office they were using to prepare. “Apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, and don’t play well with others.”

“That I knew,” murmured Bucky as he flipped through the stack of cards he’d been handed a few minutes ago. It had been his intent to write his own speech, but Pepper recommended he at least have a professional put together something based on his notes. Admittedly, whoever she’d hired had done a pretty good job of including everything he wanted, but there was one glaring problem with it all: _it was too political_. This wasn’t some campaign speech, nor was it a way to get into people’s good graces. This was meant to be informative, and if that meant telling a few uncomfortable truths, Bucky didn’t want them glossed over by someone whose job it was to make people in power look good.

While he was distracted, Tony made an outraged sound that he hardly listened to. “You know, Nine Lives, I’m amazed that’s how you feel when we’ve spent so many hours together. Long, _intimate_ —“

“If you finish that sentence, I’m poisoning your dinner.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, smirking when Tony turned back towards the window with a huff. They _had_ spent a considerable amount of time together since Bucky had gotten back to work in mid-September, which was both a good thing _and_ a bad thing. The positive part was that they worked well together and got shit done; the bad part was that, while Tony was insufferable in moderate portions, he was positively _unbearable_ full time. There had been many a day when Bucky had gone home and ranted at Steve about some ridiculous thing that had happened that day, more often than not either directly caused by Tony or indirectly influenced by his idiocy. It was usually a tossup as to which one it was on any given day.

Steve, for his part, was a patient listener and frequently chimed in sympathetically. Bucky wasn’t sure what he was going to do with himself when his best friend moved out, not that he would be going far. He and Peggy had rented an apartment on the floor below Bucky’s and were planning on moving in together during the coming summer. Now that she was heading up an oversight task force for the new Magical Council, it wasn’t like she and Steve would step on each other’s toes in the same department anymore. It was something they were both relieved by, and Peggy was beyond excited to start her new job.

When the Ministry had eventually been put back in one piece, the entire community had agreed that things needed to change. There was no way putting a Minister in charge and handing them all the power to make decisions for the benefit (or detriment, as it were) of _everyone_ was going to work after what Pierce had nearly accomplished. Instead, things had been restructured: there was a council at the head of the Ministry now, one that democratically voted on what legislation would be put in place only _after_ consulting their Muggle counterparts. Many of the departments were still structured similarly, but there were more leaders to ensure that no single person was overseeing anything. Then, of course, there were about fifty people who would be doing the same thing Peggy was: watching them all like a hawk to make sure none of them got any delusions of grandeur in their heads.

There was also a lot more interaction between the magical community and Muggle ones not only in Britain, but around the world as well. It was really unavoidable given the fact that there was no hiding what had happened in London. Too many Muggles had seen and too many were dead to make Memory Charms a feasible alternative. Besides, if they were going to condemn Hydra’s actions, they had to start by putting the right foot forward; that meant admitting that maybe it was finally time to give the Muggles some credit and come out in the open. It was a lot faster than anyone had been anticipating, not mentioning the volatility and fear that the Muggle community had exuded in the wake of the Hydra attack, but it had turned out for the better. If it hadn’t, Bucky wouldn’t exactly be here today, glaring down at his offensively inoffensive speech.

There was a knock on the door, and after Tony called for whoever it was to enter, Wanda popped her head just inside to tell him it was time. Bucky nodded, shooting her a quick smile as he followed her out into the corridor with Tony on his heels.

As they approached the ballroom, Bucky dumped his note cards into the trash can just outside the door. He’d done what Pepper suggested and got a second opinion—now he was just going to wing it. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the genes for it.

_“I’m telling you, kiddo, if there’s one thing your mom does better than anything else, it’s make shit up.”_

Bucky smiled at the memory of his mother’s speech when she’d accepted the position of Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic all those years ago. His father had been kidding, of course, but there _was_ a kernel of truth to it: Bucky’s mom always had a knack for figuring out what she wanted to say to get her point across and just _doing it_ , not waiting around to make sure her words were met with the approval of those above her. More often than not, she had nothing prepared but her own beliefs. It had always been enough, so Bucky would let her lead by example.

When they entered the Stark Industries ballroom, the place was full to bursting. The room took up most of the fifteenth floor, the outer wall made up of windows overlooking London with a beautiful view of the Thames. Round tables had been set up so that all those in attendance would have somewhere to sit as they listened to his speech and then ate dinner afterward. Bucky had to admit that, while he hadn’t been part of the decorating, he was vastly impressed with what Nat, Wanda, Clint, and Thor had come up with. The tablecloths were a striking royal blue, accentuated by the silver chairs and place settings that adorned each table fit for ten. The fluorescent lighting had been replaced by floating tea candles that offered a much softer atmosphere with the sun setting just on the other side of the city.

At the head of the ballroom was a small stage with a lone podium bearing a familiar logo in the center. Bucky immediately turned in that direction, making a beeline for his position as Wanda and Tony bade him good luck (or, in the latter’s case, said not to fuck up too badly or he’d be forced to turn it into a comedy routine) and broke off to join the table where the rest of their friends were sitting. Steve gave him a quick thumbs up on his way by, and more than one grin of approval met him as he approached the stage where Pepper was waiting.

She met him at the side of the stage, kissing his cheek and whispering, “All set?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he snorted quietly in response. She laughed lightly before frowning at his hands with raised eyebrows.

“Where are your cards?”

“Uh…”

That was obviously all the answer she needed. Sighing in exasperation, she muttered something about him being _just as bad as Tony_ , to which he took great offense, and turned to head back to the podium. Bucky didn’t bother explaining why—this was _his_ shindig no matter where it happened to be taking place, and he was going to say what _he_ wanted to say. Pepper would get over it. At least she didn’t have to worry about him doing something stupid like Tony was wont to do.

Bucky didn’t have time to ponder what exactly Tony would say in this situation before Pepper cleared her throat and, out at their table, someone clinked a knife against their glass for attention. Since it wasn’t as if they were greeting a bunch of random attendees as much as a room full of (unfortunately) press and government officials, both Muggle and magical, the room fell silent rather quickly and turned its attention to Pepper.

“Good evening,” she greeted them all with a warm smile. “I’m sure it goes without saying how grateful we are that all of you were able to be present for this wonderful opportunity. I would hate to keep you waiting another moment, so I’ll let the real star of our show tonight take it from here. I’d like to introduce the host of this evening’s event, James Barnes.”

Polite applause filled the ballroom as Pepper stepped aside and gestured for him to take her place. There were a few bubbles of increased enthusiasm, particularly from his friends and some of the reporters who knew him fairly well, but it was all very professional otherwise. Bucky thanked Pepper under his breath and turned to face everyone, pulling in what he hoped was an inconspicuous breath. He tried to remember that he’d done this before at his graduation—it didn’t help much.

“Thank you, Pepper, and thank you to everyone who managed to be here today,” he addressed everyone, allowing their scattered clapping before he pressed on. “Some of you know me as the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Others know me as the son of former Senior Undersecretary Winifred Barnes. And others are probably wondering who the idiot standing up on stage is.”

There were a few titters, mostly from the Muggle crowd. Bucky smiled encouragingly at them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get there. Whether you know me or not, though, I think we can all agree things have been rough. Seven months ago, the wall between our worlds came down in what was probably not the most tactful way.” A few more people laughed at that rather egregious understatement. “It didn’t matter if you were part of the Wizarding community or not: everyone was impacted. Our Ministry was torn down, _literally_ , and left us with no governance or guidance. An enormous part of London’s infrastructure and city structures were damaged, in some cases beyond repair. And worst of all, three hundred forty-six people were killed. Of those, seventy-six were Muggles, or those who couldn’t use magic. It didn’t matter who you were: the event was tragic, and the repercussions affected everyone both here and around the world.

“We couldn’t just _hide_ anymore. There was no taking everything back and telling people to _pretend you didn’t see that_. Things had to change, and in the last few months they have. A lot of that change has been for the better while other things have been challenging. After all, how do you take two groups of politicians, shove them in a room, and tell them to play nice, right?”

That joke got more of a rise out of people. A few of the more stoic figures off to the side, who obviously _were_ politicians, wore grudgingly amused expressions while others were laughing outright at the reality of that statement. They’d all seen the ridiculous news reports, whether on the Muggle or magical media outlets, about bickering and posturing and dick-measuring going on at the national level. It wasn’t entertaining at first, but eventually they’d all come to see the humor in it once things had gotten a bit better.

Bucky waited for everyone to calm down again and then continued a bit more seriously, “Even though we’ve come a long way, there’s a lot more that we need to do yet. It’s been seven months, but that’s nowhere near as long a time as we’ve been hiding from one another. And no, it’s not going to change overnight—that would be _way_ too optimistic. But there _are_ things we aren’t doing that we _should_ be to understand each other and start putting our worlds together. That’s the one thing I keep seeing no matter where I go that hasn’t been addressed yet. Yeah, we’re starting to recognize each other and no one’s running around screaming that witches are coming, but we’re not integrating. The traditionally magical sections of the city have remained that way, as have the Muggle areas. Now that everything is out in the open, a lot of wizards and witches have retreated to those places. Diagon Alley is more packed than ever, and I’ve heard so many people there saying that they’re thinking of moving out of the city so they don’t have to deal with the fallout. I’ve listened to just as many Muggles saying they don’t really _care_ if someone is a witch or wizard, but they really don’t want to be around any of them just to be safe.

“This has to stop. The time has come for us to start actively pulling our communities together and living as one group of people. If we don’t, we’re no better than Hydra or anyone else who tried to make our separation final forever.”

His words were met with silence, a few of his audience gaping at him with shocked expressions. Those were obviously the people who didn’t know him well; the magical media weren’t surprised at all. They were too used to his infrequent yet blunt media encounters to be bothered by it and were simply taking down what he was saying to put in tomorrow’s _Daily Prophet_ and _The Quibbler_. At his table, Sarah, the Petrovs, and all his friends were watching with proud smiles on their faces. That more than anything else gave him the strength to power on.

“This problem has been something I’ve been working on over the last few months. As many of you know, I operate a nonprofit charity organization for children called S.H.I.E.L.D. We took in over two hundred children in the last six months, magical and Muggle, who lost their parents and guardians during the Hydra attack. It became obvious very quickly that that wasn’t enough, though. We’ve always catered to children in need, kids who want to learn more about magic or about Muggles, whatever their interests may be—but they’re not the only ones who have to live in this new world we’re creating. We all do, which is why I am proud to welcome you not to Stark Industries, but to the newest addition to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Foundation.

“Thanks to tremendous support from Stark Industries, we have been able to create a second facility right here in Stark Tower. Starting Monday morning, the first fourteen floors of the building will be reopening to the public as the new S.H.I.E.L.D. educational facility. Our headquarters in Crawley will still be our primary care location for children in need, but we felt that this would be the best location to offer educational and assistance services—whether you’re a Muggle or a witch or wizard or a Squib. Our goal was always to be the light in the darkness, and we’ve come through some pretty dark times. At the S.H.I.E.L.D. location within Stark Tower, we will be providing programs for Muggle adults and children who wish to know more about the magical community, as well as opportunities for them to become acquainted with how the other side lives and tour some magical sites throughout Britain. Members of the Wizarding community will be welcome to do the same, to learn how to use Muggle technology and understand how _they_ live. Those born without powers to magical parents and vice versa will have a place in our program, where we will provide orientation to help acclimate them to the new roles they are about to embody while also ensuring they will have opportunities for formal education and employment within the community they most identify with.”

He was forced to stop when the room exploded into thunderous applause, including from the Muggle delegation and politicians. When he put his hand up for silence, it took a few minutes before everyone quieted down enough to allow him the chance to conclude.

“After dinner tonight, each and every person here will get a tour of the facilities. Members of the press will be given an extensive description of everything S.H.I.E.L.D. in London has to offer so that you can do your honorable duty of letting the rest of the world know that we are here for them. Whether you can use magic or not, we’ll never close our doors, in London or in Crawley or in any of the other locations where we are beginning to plan facilities around the globe. We’ll be here to help everyone create one world and one community based on equality for all its members. I know I speak for myself as well as the rest of the fine people who work at S.H.I.E.L.D. when I say that we appreciate any contributions you make to this effort. It doesn’t take much, just a willingness to change. Thank you very much, and enjoy your dinner.”

Rather than applause, a series of impressed and confused gasps echoed around the ballroom as plates and glasses were automatically filled with the evening’s fare. The magical folks were the first to recover, applauding his speech as well as the arrival of their food with gusto until the Muggles eventually joined in. Inclining his head once in acknowledgement, he moved off the stage with Pepper to take their seats.

Bucky collapsed into his with a heavy exhale, smiling at the pats on his shoulders and words of congratulations he received from his friends. (Well, all except Clint, but it wasn’t fair to expect him to be coherent when he was eating after putting in a full day of manual labor getting everything ready.)

“That was wonderful,” gushed Tatiana, reaching past Sarah to squeeze his hand. From Mikhail’s smile, Bucky assumed he was in agreement.

“Thanks,” he murmured bashfully, feeling his face warm up as Sarah pecked a kiss to his cheek.

“You reminded me of your mom up there,” she whispered for just the two of them. “She’d be so proud.”

Of that, Bucky had no doubt. Hearing it was always pleasant, though, especially given what day it was.

As if sensing the somber nature of his thoughts, Winter hopped out of Steve’s lap onto his (because it was _his_ shindig, and anyone who had a problem with her being here could fuck off). He was further distracted by her constant begging for the food on his plate, which he was the biggest sucker in the world for letting her have and hardly gave a shit about it.

The food was excellent, although there had been no question of that since Fury had loaned them the Hogwarts house-elves for the event and was even enjoying the festivities from a table filled with professors not far off. It wasn’t often that teachers decided to take time away from Hogwarts during term, but many of them had made an exception for this. When Bucky’s eyes connected with Heimdall’s, the latter nodded with a smile that told him just how much his former professor respected him. He’d even been stopped on his way back to the table by Fury and May, who had both shaken his hand like an equal. (His first instinct when he saw them was to fall back into the old student-teacher relationship they’d had, and it always took him a moment to realize that he was too old for that anymore.)

Overall, despite there being a good bit of the evening left to fuck up, Bucky felt like the day had been an unmitigated success. It wasn’t often that that happened; there was usually something waiting around the corner to sucker punch him in the gut for thinking he could get away with having a one hundred percent excellent day every now and again. It seemed like that sensation was on vacation today, though, and Bucky couldn’t be happier. S.H.I.E.L.D. would continue to help people no matter who they were, he hadn’t fucked up his speech, he was surrounded by friends and family—honestly, even if something _did_ suddenly go wrong, it would have to be pretty huge for him to feel any less than completely content with his life at that moment.

Of course, there was just one thing missing that appeared after dinner had been cleared away to make room for dessert.

The house-elves who levitated in his birthday cake to a rousing rendition of the traditional song, sung by everyone gathered in the ballroom, were dressed in little tuxedoes to mark the momentous occasion rather than the rags they would have been wearing a decade ago if people like Alexander Pierce had it their way. As it was, Bucky was still embarrassed that they had to heft such a huge load, regardless of the fact that they were using magic to do it: the cake had eight layers of alternating yellow and black fondant, with the Hufflepuff house crest and the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo emblazoned in places of glory on the very top tier.

Laughing, Bucky shook his head at the ridiculous size of the surprise as his friends came around the table to form a wall between him and the rest of the room. He couldn’t help but be grateful to them for it. As flattered as he was by the display, it was his twenty-first birthday, and this was a time that he wanted to be reserved just for them.

When he blew out the mercifully meager number of candles, Bucky didn’t even bother making a wish. He had everything he could possibly ever hope for and so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this series on June 19th, just a bit over two months ago now. Since then, this series has seen over three hundred thousand words, three novel-length main stories, and a series of one-shots that are by no means finished. I've gotten some amazing support, both in real life as well as here from some pretty amazing people, and that has been invaluable. You often hear writers talking about how they lose confidence in their abilities or look at what they've written and think it's just _not good enough_ , but having such wonderful feedback and support pushed me to keep going even during some of the most difficult chapters that had me wondering if I was _really_ making this a good story. Thank you to those of you who have made it to the end with me, to those of you who left comments and kudos to let me know how I'm doing, and once again to the wonderful wolfofwinter for catching my occasional typos and keeping my writing looking as professional as I have come to expect from myself. This journey has been time consuming and exhausting, but I don't regret a second of it. 
> 
> I hope you've all enjoyed reading this series as much as I have enjoyed writing it and will continue to keep track of this universe as I update [Days Gone By](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7543288/chapters/17152327). These characters won't be going anywhere, so if you're looking for more of them, you'll find them there in one-shots and prompts. If you think of a scene you'd like to see, please feel free to continue leaving prompts in the comments; I don't plan to stop taking them anytime soon. In the coming months, I also hope to start posting a new work: a Zombie Apocalypse AU starring Cap!Steve and Modern!Bucky. 
> 
> Thank you again! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Do you have a scene you'd like to see from another point of view or a prompt for this universe? Leave it in the comments and I'll write you a one-shot!


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